


John and Sherlock's Excellent Adventure

by notjustmom, scrub456



Series: John and Sherlock's Excellent Adventure [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, The Little Prince - Freeform, handsy but platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 52
Words: 40,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shared epic story by notjustmom and scrub456, formerly "Quotes from Elsewhere"; aka John and Sherlock take a Grecian holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Words are the source of misunderstandings.”  
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

 

Long ago, Sherlock had realised they were fine as long as he did not speak. Speaking broke the spell. He always jumped too far ahead, or was a mile behind. John would give him the look and shake his head or smile at him like he had lost his mind. 

But there were moments when they shared a meal in silence and it calmed him beyond reason; or they would sit in front of the fireplace, John would be reading his banal spy novels and he would be playing some bit of nonsense on his violin and the normal rush of thoughts would come to order, and he could simply breathe.


	2. Remember...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"All grown-ups were once children... but only few of them remember it."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notjustmom has the best ideas for new fic prompts, and somehow, of late, seems to be quiet skilled at steering me out of my own head.

"How do you feel about the beach?" John handed Sherlock a steaming mug, tucked himself into his chair, pointed his feet toward the fire, and wrapped his hands around his own mug for warmth.

"Loathsome. Absolutely detest it."

John huffed a quiet laugh.

"Why?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his flatmate.

"I'm thinking of taking a holiday. Just a week at the beach. Any beach. As long as it's warm." John shivered and wrapped his robe more tightly around him. "This winter is never going to end, and I'm tired of being cold all the time."

"I thought you of all people would be averse to anywhere that was all sun and sand." Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"You're not wrong. But," John sipped his tea, "the beach has the ocean. And some of my happiest childhood memories. We spent a week at the beach every summer up until my mum died."

"A torturous month at the beach was inflicted upon me every summer until I was twelve years old." Sherlock grumbled. "My parents traveled abroad for mummy's lecture series, while Mycroft and I were dumped at our grandaunt Tilly's house on the coast. It was miserable."

" _Miserable?_ " John frowned. "Really? No good memories at all? No adventures? Scientific discoveries? Friendships forged?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, then closed it just as quickly. "There was one summer. I was six. I saw a boy, he was older and bigger than me, climbing some rocks. I was curious, so I followed him. I slipped and got stuck. He found me, and cut his foot getting me out. He had to get stitches; I remember it seemed like a thousand to my childish mind."

John propped his elbow on the arm of his chair, rested his chin on his palm, and quirked his mouth into the slightest of smiles. "A bit of hero worship follow after?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John." Sherlock scoffed. "Though, Tilly did insist on treating him to a sundae. And we met back on the rocks every day for the next four days. I showed him different types of algae. He taught me to swim. We collected insects and sea shells." The corner of Sherlock's mouth ticked up into a tiny smile. "I suppose that summer was... tolerable."

"It sounds like you had genuine fun, Sherlock. And made a friend." John's smile grew a bit broader.

Sherlock hummed his agreement, though a hint of loneliness crept into his voice. "The day his family left, he told me they visited that beach every year, and that he would find me the next summer. But, he never came. I waited for him on the rocks everyday that next summer..." His sigh was wistful.

John's smile was tremulous, his own tone gone a bit sentimental. "Mum died two months after that trip. We couldn't afford the luxury of holidays at the beach after that."

Sherlock fixed his gaze on John then, scrutinizing every line of his face as if seeing him for the first time.

"If memory serves, I won a blue stuffed dog at the boardwalk, and gave it to you that last day. I thought he should be called Gladstone, but you picked Jean-Henri..."

"After Fabre, the French entomologist." Eyes wide in wonder, Sherlock barely managed a whisper. "John..."

"You went by William back then, and you must have tried to delete me when you were older because you thought I abandoned you." John slid his foot out of his ratty old slipper, scooted down in his chair, and propped his heel on Sherlock's knee. A thin silver line ran across the arch of his foot. "And it was only twelve stitches."

They sat in silent introspection for several moments, both in awe of this serendipitous revelation.

"John?"

"Yeah, Sherlock?"

"I believe you mentioned something about needing a bit of a holiday..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was on loop in my mind as I wrote this. It's not even from the right time period... 
> 
>  
> 
> [Island in the Sun by Weezer](https://youtu.be/erG5rgNYSdk)
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry, not sorry.


	3. Tedious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Grown ups never understood anything by themselves. And it is rather tedious to have to explain things to them time and again”   
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

They decided on Greece, Sherlock had a tolerable grasp of the language and John had never been; there were plenty of quiet, isolated islands where they could simply explore and talk.

Sherlock realised there were so many questions he wanted to ask John. He had to admit that John had been right, he had tried to get Mycroft to help him delete John, but bits and pieces of that one holiday ended up like dust, no, like sand he couldn't shake out of his curls.

He looked up to see John grinning at him, he had asked him something or said something and he had no idea what it was, he loathed repeating himself, though it never seemed to bother John.

"We've landed."

"Oh, yes. I was just - "

"Thinking?"

"Hmm."

They grabbed their bags and found a cab that would take them to the cottage that Sherlock had found, right on the beach, no other houses as far as the eye could see. It was white with a bright blue door and matching shutters, two bedrooms and a tiny kitchen and they had put some work into the loo, a nice claw tub with a new toilet.

John was thrilled to find a recently polished tea kettle and a note in broken English on the kitchen table:

"Please enjoy - know you are English, hope this tea is likable."

John shook his head but thought PG Tips were quite 'likable.' He put the kettle on and looked up to see Sherlock observing him.

"I kept that dog on a shelf in my room, it may still be there. My parents were brilliant, but a bit absentminded and would be thinking all sorts of thoughts all at once, they would spot it every once in a while over the years and would wonder aloud why I still had it. I would try to explain about you, not that I knew it was you, and about halfway through they would wander off, and I would be left wondering what had become of -"

"I had a dull childhood after my mum died, papa tried his best, I played rugby, and decided to lose myself in anatomy and science. He had been in the Falklands, he tried to discourage me from enlisting after med school, but I was set on it, and he let me go. He died while I was on my second tour."

The kettle whistled, John made tea, and they took their cups outside and breathed in the salt air. 

"So you hate repeating yourself because your parents kept asking about why you would keep something so -"

"Sentimental? Precisely. They couldn't understand how a meeting that happened once could affect me so; I had never made friends before or after. I tried explaining it to them, perhaps so I could understand it myself, but I never could explain you well enough either to their satisfaction or my own."

John smiled. He put his tea down on the table and took Sherlock's from his hand; he slipped off his shoes and walked onto the perfect white sand. Sherlock grinned at him and followed suit.


	4. A Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't be dignified on the beach. It's not allowed.

Sherlock laughed.

It was deep. Resonating. Originating from the depths of his very core. Years of self-imposed solemnity were coming undone, and once he started, he was loath to stop. So he allowed himself this unrestrained indulgence.

And how could he not?

His ridiculous best friend's behavior was, frankly, unabashedly... _ridiculous._ In the short amount of time it took to cover the distance from the cottage to the shore, John had stripped to his vest, leaving a trail of discarded jumper and button up shirt in his wake, and managed to roll his trouser cuffs haphazardly up his calves. He'd already run out to where the water was up to his knees. He stood, eyes closed, hands out to his sides, breathing in the salty air, soaking up all the light the sun had to offer, and letting the waves break against him.

John definitely didn't see distant cresting wave. He absolutely wasn't prepared for his feet to be swept out from under him. And he was completely stunned by the unadulterated joy in Sherlock's laughter at his expense. "Prat," John sputtered as swiped the water from his eyes.

Taking his time to finish rolling up his own cuffs and sleeves, Sherlock ambled over to where John had dragged himself up onto the drier sand. "Your mobile?"

"Yeah, that's definitely ruined." John pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up in front of him. The screen was ominously black, and water dripped from every crevice. "I didn't want to talk to anyone this week anyway." John grinned up at Sherlock, who helped him to his feet, and then with a swift motion skipped his sodden mobile like a stone out across the waves.

Sherlock gasped in momentary shock, but then there bubbled up the laughter once more. "God, John. Good thing one of us has some sense. Glad I left mine back in my carry-on."

"Hmm. Good thing." John nodded and cocked a mischievous eyebrow at his friend.

"What?"

"Nothing, just..." In a flash, John managed to drag Sherlock from his spot and toss him into the water. 

Recovering himself quickly, Sherlock stood glaring at John, posh shirt and trousers soaked through, a riotous mop of wet curls dripping, and a devious twitch playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh... shite." John laughed and took off at a sprint; Sherlock followed closely behind, intentionally _almost-but-not-quite_ catching him as they laughed and dodged and cursed and splashed their way down the beach. 

Sherlock nearly forgot that he wasn't six years old as he gleefully watched John pull himself up onto an outcropping of rocks. He scrambled up behind him, and only lost his footing once. Instantly John's hand was there in front of him, pulling him up next to him. 

"Got ya." 

"You got _me_?" Sherlock scoffed.

"I _am_ stronger."

"Well... I'm taller."

John laughed outright. "True." He sat down with his legs dangling down over the edge. "I _was_ taller than you. Once."

"For five days." Sherlock chuckled and sat down next to his friend. "And then, only because you're so very much older than I am."

"Oi!" John bumped Sherlock's shoulder with his own and laughed. He looked out over the white sand beach and the ocean reflecting first traces of sunset. Reverently, almost as if in prayer, John whispered, " _beautiful._ " 

Sherlock hummed his consent and pushed the damp curls back from his face. He watched John watching the sea, and considered a dozen different topics of conversation. Instead of diving in feet first, as he was so often inclined to do, Sherlock allowed the peacefulness of the moment to win out. 

They sat, shoulder to shoulder, in companionable contemplation, just _being._


	5. Listen...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I love to listen to the stars at night. It is like listening to five hundred million little bells . . .”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"We should think about what to do for food..." John stopped as he looked up into the darkening night sky.

Sherlock's eyes followed John's, and he involuntarily gasped; he thought he had seen stars before. He dropped where he stood and laid down in the sand, not caring a bit about the already ruined clothing or how impossible his hair would be in the morning.

John joined him, and after a few moments he reached out for Sherlock's hand.

"We've done this before." Sherlock murmured, and he recalled a similar night a lifetime ago.

"You called it 'listening to the universe,' " John whispered back.

"What do you hear, John?"

John took a moment and closed his eyes. "The sea, the wind; I hear us as children, saying goodbye for the summer."

Sherlock squeezed John's hand. They listened and breathed together until Sherlock's stomach rumbled; John tried to stifle his snort, but failed.

"Wonder if there is a decent Chinese place in these parts."


	6. Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The proof that the little prince existed is that he was charming, that he laughed, and that he was looking for a sheep. If anybody wants a sheep, that is a proof that he exists."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure the sheep Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote about wasn't what was for dinner. Oh well. When in Greece, right?

"John, are you happy?"

"What?" John laughed the unguarded, uninhibited laugh that Sherlock couldn't recall ever having heard before that day, as the truck they'd hitched a ride in hit a bump and toppled him off the low vegetable crate he'd been precariously perched on. He laughed again as he tried to sit up, but his attempt was thwarted by the fact that he was feeling more than a little _relaxed_ (not quite tipsy) after the bottle of wine they'd demolished with dinner. The overzealous, exceptionally friendly blue merled border collie flopping down across his chest did not help him in his efforts. "I give up." He reached up and scratched the dog behind her ears.

Sherlock, also feeling _not quite tipsy,_ found the idea of repeating himself less hateful than normal. He scooted off his own crate to sit next to John. He reached out to ruffle the dog's fur, and cleared his throat. "I just... _Are_ you happy, John?"

John rolled his eyes and grinned. "I'm with my best friend on holiday at the beach, in _Greece_ for godsake. We're stuffed full of lamb... _whatever_ that was, and tulumba. We didn't have to walk the twenty minutes back to the cottage, and I'm petting a dog. All that, and the knowledge that everyone else I know is up to their arses in snow? Yeah, I'd say I'm pretty damn happy right now."

"Point conceded." Sherlock laughed as the dog turned so that she was sitting on John, but staring up at him with one brown eye and one brilliant blue.

"That's not what you meant though, is it?" John tried to sit up once more, but the dog refused to relinquish her spot.

"You don't laugh like this in London..."

"One might say the same of you, yeah?" John was still grinning up at him.

Sherlock went suddenly serious. He hadn't considered his own behavior. "I don't..."

"It's okay to have fun when you're on holiday, Sherlock. You work very hard at home, and people expect so much of you there. You don't have to worry about that here."

"Much is demanded of you as well."

"Eh." John finally managed to sit up. Bereft, the dog leaned heavy against his side.

"Don't. I know how difficult I am to live with, how hard you work to make your place..."

"Sherlock, this life, _our life,_ is the life I chose. I may not always be carefree laughing happy, but I'm _content._ Things didn't go the way I'd planned, but I wouldn't trade what I have now for any of that." John's smile was the lopsided, self-assured, no nonsense smile. The one that served as a dare to challenge him on this. The truck ground to an abrupt stop in front of the cottage before Sherlock had a chance to respond. John patted his arm before grabbing the bag of supplies they'd bought, and jumped down to the road. "I see your mind working over there. We've got all week to talk."

Returning John's smile, Sherlock scooted off the end of the truck and laughed as the dog pranced around John's legs. They offered to pay for the ride, but their driver, the daughter of a nearby farmer, refused. She blushed and ducked her head when John attempted, poorly, to thank her in Greek. 

Sherlock chuckled. Apparently one didn't need a working knowledge of the language to get around in a foreign land. One just needed to be John Watson.

John tried to urge the dog back into the truck, but she seemed more than happy to sit at his feet. The farmer's daughter, Callia, assured Sherlock that the dog was known by everyone on the island, and that she knew her way home. Sherlock shrugged and John grinned, and the matter was settled. 

"Her name?"

"Kyanós. Because of her eyes. Kya for short."

Sherlock laughed and thanked Callia again as he turned to walk to the cottage.

"What? What's funny?" John couldn't help smiling at Sherlock's laughter.

"The dog's name." He motioned to their new companion. "It means blue."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What we had in mind for Kya...
> 
>  


	7. Understanding...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Children understand.”   
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Sherlock watched John sit down in the chair next to the fireplace, Kya laid by his feet and settled in to sleep.

He understood what John was to him, at last. If he were a child of six, he could present his friend of eight with a shell as he had back then; and John could accept it as intended. As an adult, he had struggled to define their relationship. It was friendship, but as Sherlock had never had a friend since that younger version of John, it had to be more...

"Shall I build a fire? It is starting to get a bit chilly." John asked quietly.

Sherlock nodded, as usual, John could sense when he was working something out, and left him to his thoughts as he made a small, precise fire. As long as he had known John, there was something precise about him. He had boundaries, places where Sherlock did not dare overstep; he thought, perhaps now that they were aware of their previous history, brief as it was, he could encroach upon those areas finally.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Uh-hmm, sure, anything, you know that."

"What am I to you, exactly?"

Sherlock had always been afraid of whatever answer John would give. It would either be too much, or not enough.

John seemed to have expected something like that. He sat in front of the fire and whispered. "Ever since I have known you, you have been home, nothing more, nothing less."


	8. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Only the children know what they are looking for..."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

_"Does it hurt?"_

_"Not so bad. Not any more." John climbed up onto a rock and sat down. He stripped off his shoes and socks (mum made him promise to wear them when he went out to play, but she hadn't made him promise to keep them on), and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. Beside him William crouched down to be eye level with his foot._

_"You cried." William stared at the cut on the bottom of John's foot. It was bruised and there was a little bit of dried blood. Aunt Tilly said they were stitching John's foot just like she had stitched the tear in his jacket, but John's foot didn't look anything like the neat, almost invisible stitches he had imagined. John's stitches were big, and black, and ugly. And they looked terrible and wrong._

_He really wanted to ask John if he could touch the stitches..._

_William looked up at John when he realized his friend hadn't replied. He furrowed his little brow and studied John's face. The other boy was looking down at his hands, and his face was very red. Not sunburn red, but the type of red you turn when you've done something wrong. "Are you embarrassed John? "_

_John nodded his head. "Yes... Harry called me a baby." He looked up at William, and sniffed. "I'm_ not _a baby. I tried to be brave, but it just hurt too bad."_

_Scrambling up next to John on the rock, William knelt beside his friend. "Can I tell you a thecret?" Eyes wide, John nodded. William leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "Before you found me, I thought no one ever would... I cried too. A little bit."_

_"I didn't know that." John blinked in surprise. "I don't think_ you're _a baby. Being all alone makes me sad sometimes too."_

 _William leaned against John's shoulder. "And I think you're the bravest boy in the world. You're braver than my brother Myc, and he's_ big... _And boring."_

_John giggled. "My sister Harry is big and boring too. I wish I had a brother instead."_

_"It's not fair! I wish_ you _were my brother." William pouted._

_"Okay!" John grinned. "We'll be the best kind of brothers because we will be best friends too!"_

_"But, we don't live at the same house like brothers are suppose to. We don't live near at all." William tried to keep up his pout, but he couldn't stop his mouth from smiling._

_"Uhmm... Oh, I know!" John looked around them. "_ This _can be like our home. Every summer we can come up here, and this will be our place. Just for us."_

_"Really?" William clapped his hands. "And when we're bigger we can find some grown-up place that will be just for us."_

_"But every day. Not just during the summer."_

_"Yes!" William jumped down from the rock in his excitement, and accidentally bumped John's sore foot. He froze and stared at the stitches. "Thorry, John... I didn't mean to..."_

_"It's okay." John smiled conspiratorially. "The doctor said I mustn't touch the stitches, but I already did... Do you wanna?" He held his foot out toward William._

_"Can I?" William clapped his hands again and dropped down to his knees. When John nodded, William cradled his foot carefully with one hand, and ran just the index finger of his other hand lightly over the cut. "It's so..._ Weird. _" He wrinkled his nose._

_"And ticklish." John squirmed and covered his mouth to keep the giggles in. William considered testing just how ticklish John's foot was, but instead patted it tenderly, and gingerly guided it down._

_"Did... Did you see where it happened?" William motioned to a group of rocks down below._

_"No... I came up the other side."_

_"Some of your blood is still there." The two boys stared at each other._

_"Really?" John glanced down at the rocks._

_William nodded. "And... There were bugs crawling," he gestured wildly with his hands, "all over it. It's_ disgusting."

_"I..." John giggled. "Gross." William nodded again. And grinned. John abandoned his shoes and socks and they scrambled down the rocks together._

 

* * *

 

 

"Home." Sherlock repeated. "What does that..."

Taking him by the hand, John gently guided Sherlock to the couch. He sat and pulled Sherlock down beside him. In what seemed to be well practiced movements, John removed his right shoe and crossed ankle over his left knee. Both men looked at the scar on the bottom of his foot. "We became something more than just friends that day. Brothers, but something deeper than blood. Where ever you were, that's where I belonged."

With feather light touch, Sherlock traced the scar with just his index finger.

John huffed a laugh. "Sorry, still ticklish." Sherlock patted John's foot, just as he had so many years ago, but left his hand resting there. "It doesn't matter where I go, or what I do. Not the army, not that godawful bedsit, not even Baker Street. Those places aren't where I belong." John covered Sherlock's hand with his own. "This is where I belong. This is my home. Am I... What am I to you?"

Sherlock blinked a few times, leaned a little closer into John's side and sighed contentedly. _"Home."_

"Lazy git, you can't steal my answer." John grinned at him.

"Okay fine." With his best put-upon tone, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Brother, best friend, center of the universe, the heart no one seems to think I have, the most important thing..." He waved his other hand noncommittally. "Pick one." Kya huffed, curled into a tight ball and covered her nose with her tail.

John laughed. "I agree with the dog. You're terrible at this."


	9. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To forget a friend is sad. Not everyone has had a friend.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"I'm sorry." Sherlock mumbled and looked down at his hand still touching John's foot. 

"What for? It happened years ago and it wasn't your fault -"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I am sorry for that as well, but I'm so sorry I forgot you. I tried to forget that I ever had a friend because it hurt too much when I lost you. There was something about you the day we met in the lab, I tried to shake it off, and then when you killed the cabbie for me, I couldn't work out why you would do that, when you barely knew me."

"I know. I couldn't explain it to myself, I just knew I couldn't desert you when I knew you were in danger."

"Maybe you are just my guardian angel?"

John gigglesnorted. Sherlock's contemplative mood dissolved and he guffawed in return.

"A funny kind of guardian angel." John gasped out when he recovered.

"No, you are exactly the kind of guardian angel I should expect. Sassy, ironic, brave, kind and remarkable in all ways." Sherlock traced John's scar again and shivered as John placed his hand over his own.

"It's getting late. I'm going to turn in." Sherlock nodded and released John's foot. John stood and placed his hand in Sherlock's hair and gave it a gentle ruffle. "If I'm remarkable, it's because you keep choosing to be my friend, my one true friend. Even in the military, I had mates, of course, but, no one ever mattered more than you, no matter the age. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Night, John."

Kya looked at John, then at Sherlock and seemed to know Sherlock needed her more, and remained at his feet.

"Night, Sherlock, night, Kya."

John walked the short distance to his room and shut the door.

Sherlock stretched out on the couch, his dangling fingers gently scratched Kya's head until he fell asleep.


	10. Regrets?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He sat down. I sat down next to him. And after a silence, he spoke again."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

John tossed the stick and shielded his eyes against the sun as he watched Kya run to retrieve it. The white sand nearly glowed in the early light of sunrise, and the sky burned bright golden-orange-pink. In his memory, of all the spectacular sunrises he'd seen, the only ones that truly rivaled this one were the ones a lifetime ago on a different beach. He inhaled deeply, relishing the crisp salt air, and shivered despite the warmth. 

When Kya returned with a different, slightly unwieldy piece of driftwood, John just huffed a laugh and threw it in the opposite direction down the beach. He sat down and dug his bare feet into the sand.

Everything around him was perfect. He was on the perfect holiday at the perfect place. And Sherlock...

_Perfect._

Even his dreams had cooperated. His mind had created glimpses of what could have been by mashing together cherished childhood memories and their most recent adventures. It had taken John a full minute to realize that what had startled him awake was his own laughter. Did people even do that? He supposed they must, though this was a first for him.

John threw Kya's driftwood into the water and laughed as the dog splashed and frolicked in the waves.

Despite the perfection all around him, and the happiness that had taken residence in his very core, John grew wistful as he considered how much pain and heartache they might have been spared, if only... If he'd tried harder to get back to Sherlock (never mind that he was a child of eight when they'd parted), perhaps Sherlock would never have used. If he'd had the promise of something to live for beyond the army, he might have been more careful, more watchful, not ended up broken. And maybe...

John jumped when he felt the warm nudge at his shoulder.

"I can hear you thinking from the house." Sherlock handed him a mug.

"Went with the formal wear again, I see." John laughed outright as he looked Sherlock, who was wrapped in a sheet, up and down. "If Mycroft could see you now."

"I'll thank you to not mention that odious name while we're on holiday, John." With a roll of his eyes and a cheeky grin, Sherlock let the sheet drop, revealing his yellow swim shorts and a white linen shirt.

"Git." John stood and helped Sherlock spread the sheet out. Kya took this as an invitation to join them, and did a sort of happy-doted-upon-wiggle-dance with her wet sandy feet all over the clean sheet before laying down at one end. John laughed when Sherlock scrunched his face, shrugged, then flopped down on it anyway. 

John looked down at the pair of them. Sherlock seemed genuinely at peace, restful even, staring out over the water, Kya stretched out across his legs. He made a weak attempt to dust the sand from his bum and sat down next to Sherlock.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Sherlock gave John a sidelong glance. "You dreamt about us last night. Younger. It was different, but the same." John hummed in acknowledgement, but didn't turn to look at his friend. "I heard you laugh in your sleep."

More silence.

Sherlock inhaled deeply. "I dreamt it too." 

John did look at him then. His lopsided smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Did it make you... I mean... Regrets? I have..." John stumbled over his words, and turned his head quickly away.

"A few yes. But those regrets are all my own stupidity, and nothing to do with you. Not one. Not ever." Sherlock laid his hand over John's.

"But, if I..."

"We were children." Sherlock spoke so softly, John had to face him in order to hear him. He was stunned silent by the emotion he saw there, in those eyes that rivaled the sea. Sherlock tightened the hold he had on John's hand. "We can't change the events that happened. Any variation, and there's no guarantee we'd be where we are today. But that's the story of us. The story of how we grew, were broken and mended, how we changed, and still managed to find one another. And it's perfect."

"All right, genius." John sniffed and shook his head. "And you accuse me of romanticizing our life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda (really) struggled with this chapter (after notjustmom's last _awesomeness_ )... Then I heard this song, and there was something just so... Sherlock and John (especially John) about it. There's one line in the song, "and the story that brought us here ain't the thing that changed, no" struck me as perfect.
> 
> [Where The Light Shines Through](https://youtu.be/kNP_Du9dSB0) by Switchfoot.  
> (Read the [lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/switchfoot/wherethelightshinesthrough.html))


	11. Reverie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And he sank into reverie, which lasted a long time.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Sherlock was so quiet in his stillness for so long that John assumed he had fallen asleep or was redecorating his Mind Palace, so it took him a bit aback when his friend turned to him and asked, "am I enough for you? This, whatever we have, I wonder sometimes if you want more, a family, children, someone to carry your name forward?"

John closed his eyes and felt the breeze tickle his face. He breathed in the scents that surrounded him, Sherlock's hand still held onto his; he could feel the question through his fingers. He took his time and considered the question carefully, then opened his eyes and looked out into the bright blue water; felt his friend's pulse under his own surprisingly still fingers. "Hmmmm...I think I was programmed to want the wife, the kids, career...a 'normal' life. I think I thought I was capable of having that until I came home injured in a way that made me doubt everything that I was then, or had been." He stopped and turned to look at Sherlock who had returned to looking out into the distance, watching the skies turn a blue that almost matched the sea beneath it.

"But then I met you, and you, you amazing man, no, you are, truly; without a second thought, you carried me with you into your life, and you made me realise there was so much more to me, more to what life had to offer than 'average.' You and I are partners, and you are the only family I will ever want or need. I know there have been times when you have doubted that. Please know, I want nothing more than to be by your side as long as you will have me."

Sherlock leaned into him, and whispered, "perhaps we might consider getting a dog when we get home."

"Yes, a dog. I think I could handle a dog."

They spent the rest of the morning throwing the stick for Kya, watching the sky change and holding onto one another. They didn't feel the need to speak until Kya ran off toward home, and John realised they hadn't eaten since last night.

"Lunch."

"Hmmm...yes...food is a good idea, I suppose." Sherlock murmured. "You are all I will ever need as well, John. Thank you."

John pulled Sherlock from the sand covered sheet and dusted him off, then looked into those remarkable, changeable eyes and grinned. "I think we are two of the luckiest blokes to ever walk the earth."

"I know we are." Sherlock turned towards the house, humming something John had never heard before; the detective usually composed when he needed to work something through, this sound, however was almost contented, at peace; he turned slightly and stretched out his hand to John. John took the offered hand and they walked into town; they chatted about nothing important, but it meant everything to each of them.


	12. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"I hadn't realized it was so late." John glanced up as chimes somewhere in the near distance rang half one. "Time seems to run differently here."

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort (such an inane statement deserved more than a simple response). He'd had every intention of explaining to John that hours passed as a unit of measurement, and that fact remained unchanged, no matter their location. He was going to remind John, _smugly_ of course, of the earth's rotation around the sun -- because John had said that was important to know, and so he had remembered it for just such an occasion. Sherlock even had at the ready a short soliloquy on Einstein's theory of relativity, and the three flaws he had found within. 

He intended to say all those things. He really, honest to god did.

But John's back had been to him, so John had not initially seen the glint in Sherlock's eye as he prepared to set his friend straight. What John _had_ done was accept a small bundle of cherries to sample from the old woman peddling her wares. He turned in time to see Sherlock open his mouth, and abandoning all logical, rational, sane thought, popped one of the cherries into Sherlock's mouth. "Taste."

Stunned, Sherlock stared back at John, with his wide, expectant eyes, and that infuriating lopsided smile. _What the hell, John? You of all people know I despise surprises... You don't just infringe upon a man's senses... You simply cannot..._ An entire litany of responses flashed through his mind. But curiosity won out.

And then his eyes were closed, and the only thought he had was _tartsweetdamnnearperfectmmmm._ The only sound even remotely close to sounding like a word he managed to make was "Mmm."

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, John's back was to him once more. He was exchanging a few coins for a bag of the cherries.

"That was... I was going to..."

John grinned up at his friend. "You were going to remind me that I'm an idiot. I know that look. Ta." He waved his thanks to the old woman, handed Sherlock the bag of cherries, and began to saunter down the quaint street as if he hadn't a care in the world.

 _At this moment, he actually doesn't,_ Sherlock realized with some surprise. He hurried to catch up with John.

"Do you realize we've not even been here twenty-four hours? Just short of, actually." 

"Mhmm." Sherlock mumbled around a mouthful of cherries.

"Feels like forever." 

Sherlock swallowed hard and stood very still. "I didn't realize my company was so... tiresome."

John turned and grabbed Sherlock's wrist. "And who's the idiot now?" He looked up at Sherlock with those incomparable blue eyes and laughed. "It's an expression. I just... It feels like we've always been here. Always belonged here. Together. Like time doesn't matter, because we've got all of eternity."

Despite everything his analytical mind knew to be true, Sherlock thought time might have actually stopped.

John slid his hand down to hold onto Sherlock's, then laughed in embarrassment when his stomach rumbled. "Oh god."

Sherlock tugged John's hand and chuckled. "Infinity can wait. Lunch."


	13. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Μεσημεριανό = lunch

They followed their noses through the market, ending up at a small cafe with a couple of empty tables out front. 

An old man was working in the kitchen, at their entrance, he looked up and greeted them. "Hullo. Can I help?"

"Μεσημεριανό"* Sherlock inquired.

The old man came out and looked Sherlock over then took his hand in his."You are a Holmes. Yes, yes you are. Nothing like your brother of course, he wouldn't be caught dead in shorts of any kind, but especially not in yellow. You are the youngest, the detective. I knew your parents. I can see them in you. And you - Dr. Watson...yes, I know of your blog. This whole village knows of you."

Sherlock and John exchanged looks.

"We understand the need for time away here, you are not famous here, no coat or scarf, no jumpers. Already after what, a day - you are settled in and have a bit of sun in your cheeks - no, no worries of your privacy being invaded. You are our guests, please, come out back?"

They followed him to the patio in the back of the restaurant, were instantly greeted by Kya and her owner, and offered seats at the large, food covered table. Grilled meats and vegetables, warm pita, stuffed grape leaves, which John had developed a full blown obsession for in the single day of their holiday, bottles of ouzo and honey drizzled baklava made their stomachs growl again. They rolled their eyes at one another, as the entire company laughed.

"Come, eat! Join us!"

Andreas, the owner, explained how he knew Sherlock's parents. "Many years ago, your parents came to this village for their honeymoon. They actually stayed in the cottage where you are staying now, it has been a bit modernized since of course, but it is essentially the same. They loved it so much, they stayed for two months instead of a week. I believe your brother was...what is the word..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stopped Andreas with a single look, and the older man laughed. "Yes, very like your mother, my young friend. She was the more brilliant of the two. But he, he was the heart. Yes?"

John saw Sherlock's face change; he reached for his hand and held on tight.

Sherlock nodded and replied, "When he died, she was lost, she lasted a few years after, but she was never the same."

Andreas toasted him and his parents, and told them to stay as long as they liked. "Please, take all the time you need. You are family here. The lunch crowd will be in soon, but let me know if you need anything."

They sat silently as the tables filled; workers, mothers with small children, old men, obviously regulars had their midday meal. Their presence was acknowledged by a few whispers and nods in their direction, but as Andreas promised, they were simply two visitors enjoying their holiday, and were not disturbed. Sherlock took a deep breath and let it go slowly. John popped one last stuffed grape leaf in his mouth, and sat back as the sun blazed above them.

"I think I need a nap," John muttered. "As soon as I can get up again."

Sherlock shook himself out of his funk and grinned at him. "C'mon, old man, let me help you up." He got out of his chair and managed to peel John from his. "Up we go." They nodded their thanks to Andreas as he would take no money, and Kya was once again at their heels as they made their way back to their cottage.


	14. Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I was sad, but I told them: 'I am tired.'"_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"John... John? Slow down." Sherlock had been prepared to support and guide drowsy John back to the cottage. A nice easy pace with nice easy conversation. But they were over halfway there and had not exchanged a word. John was tense, Sherlock could see it in his shoulders. He couldn't get a glimpse of his face, as John was fairly marching along, _determined,_ a step ahead of him, nearly dragging him by their still entwined hands.

"John." Sherlock stopped and tugged on John's hand. "Please."

Halting abruptly, John stood with his back to Sherlock, and let his shoulders slump with a sigh. Sherlock let go of his hand, stepped in front of him and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "I thought perhaps you were angry with me, though I couldn't imagine why. I'm prone to missing cues though, and..."

"Not angry. Just... tired," John mumbled. He kept his eyes turned away from Sherlock’s gaze.

"No. No, that's not it. You said you want a nap, but there's something more. Look at me, please?" Sherlock frowned when he saw the sorrow in John's eyes. "John..."

"I just... Your face when you spoke of your parents. I didn't know what to do or to say to make it easier for you."

"You held my hand and sat beside me. That's more than anyone else has ever offered before. Earlier you said that _this_ " he motioned between them "was enough for you. You haven’t heard my thoughts on the matter."

"It can't be enough. How can I be enough? No one has ever..." John dropped his chin and tried to pull away.

Sherlock took John's right hand in both of his placed it over his own heart. "Didn't you know?"

"Sherlock," John shook his head, but the corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Head and heart."

"Damn you." John laughed despite himself.

"I _did_ say it last night." Sherlock smiled. He had no plans to relinquish John's hand.

"You did."

A couple on bicycles rode past, watching them with curious smiles.

"Cottage?"

John nodded and they let Kya lead the way.

"I wonder..."

"What, John? Anything."

"Andreas seemed to know your brother. I wonder if the odious one ever brought..."

Sherlock halted once more and glared. "If you finish that statement, verbally or otherwise, I will never speak to you again." 

John bumped his shoulder against Sherlock’s, adjusted the hold they had on one another's hands, and pulled him toward the cottage with a grin.


	15. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of course, I love you,' the flower said to him. 'If you were not aware of it, it was my fault.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

The pleasant weather had changed dramatically on the walk back to the cottage. John put on the kettle as Sherlock remade the fire. They sat together on the couch, knee against knee, hands in laps, staring into the flames; Kya lay at their feet, not caring in the least what the two friends were discussing, or as the case may be weren't discussing as they had become silent. Silent in a way that made recollection if not quite easier, perhaps it didn't seem as difficult as it could have been elsewhere. 

John leaned into Sherlock's space a tiny bit more, took the detective's right hand in both of his, and sighed. Sherlock knew the sound, knew confessions, or memories were coming, and when John was in this reflective mood, he was loath to stop him.

"There were times, when you were gone...I had so much time to think, and rethink and question what exactly we were, what you thought of me, honestly; why I stayed even after you had seemed to have died. I thought at first that I stayed simply because, well, truth of the matter is, I hate moving. I hate departures, arrivals even more, you may have guessed that."

"I never guess." Sherlock looked straight ahead.

"Sure you do." John smiled wistfully, still holding Sherlock's hand between his and staring into the fire, but not seeing it.

"I came to the conclusion, however, much as I hate moving and the changes that come with it, I loved our life together too much to ever leave it, even without your presence. That sounds awful. But, there were times when I felt you there, perhaps I had heard a busker play a piece you loved earlier in the day, or a patient came in that reminded me of you somehow, I took that home, and you were there, standing at the window, playing, or stretched out on the couch in a strop, your normal resting state. I suppose, in the end, I couldn't allow your ghost to wander unappreciated. You always loved an audience. I was your -"

"Friend, my first, my one, my only, John. You always believed I left to finish the game. I let you believe that, because for the longest time, I couldn't acknowledge to myself or tell you that the reason I had to go was to save you. He could have threatened England or Europe, I wouldn't have given a rat's arse, but he threatened you, threatened to remove you from the planet if I didn't jump."

"Why was I so important to you? Why me, Sherlock?" John looked at their hands, then up at the tears that were quietly streaming down his friend's sculptured cheekbones. "Why?"

"Because, for the simple reason, John, that I loved you, always have, still do - no, not in a way that complicates things, at least it never has for me, it's more a state of awareness, appreciation, uhm..."

"Fondness, perhaps?" Sherlock looked up at him in mild surprise.

"You never understood, did you? If our roles had been reversed that day, I would have done the same for you, for the same reason."

Sherlock opened his mouth and shook his head. "I never -"

"I should've told you, I didn't know how, I didn't understand what it meant then. I know now. It just means I want to spend the rest of my life with you; just being with you here, or at Baker Street, anywhere where you are -"

"Will you - come take a rest with me? Just sleep next to me?"

John nodded, wiped Sherlock's tears from his face, then stood and offered Sherlock his hand. "I would like nothing more."

Sherlock got to his feet and followed him to their room, as Kya slept on by the ashes of the dying fire.


	16. Never Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is a little lonely in the desert..."  
> “It is also lonely among men..."  
> -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"Okay?" 

"Mhmm." Despite the fact that the afternoon had grown grey and there was a bit of chill in the wind, John left the window open a crack to allow the sounds and smells of the sea to drift in through the linen curtains and permeate the room. "'S peaceful." He pulled the quilt up a little more with a contented sigh. Sherlock found John's hand with his own and wrapped his fingers around John's.

They lay in restful silence, shoulder to shoulder, fingers entwined, simply breathing. It wasn't until John's breath evened out that Sherlock whispered, "this was always the hardest part."

Humming in response, John turned on his side so he could look at his friend. 

"Sorry... I..."

"Right before sleep comes is the loneliest, isn't it?" John tightened his hold on Sherlock's fingers.

Sherlock huffed out a breathy laugh. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? As a boy, tucked into bed in a house where no one _really_ understood me, I'd think about my friend," he squeezed John's hand a little tighter, "and miss him -- miss you."

"Not ridiculous," John inhaled deeply the scent of ocean, the herbs from the lunch they'd shared, the remnants of Sherlock's shampoo. "Especially after mum... I just, well, I understand."

Pulling John's hand into both of his, Sherlock turned to face him. "Of course you do."

"What's ridiculous is trying to fall asleep in a tent in the desert, surrounded by dozens of other guys, but being overwhelmed with the anxiety of feeling completely isolated."

They lay, soaking up the warmth of proximity, and cherishing the closeness. 

"When I... left..." Sherlock closed his eyes and turned his face into the pillow. "I didn't -- _couldn't_ \-- let myself think of London, of home... of you. If I had I would have most definitely lost my resolve and contacted you, which would have put you in harm's way. But when I would actually attempt to sleep... I was haunted by memories... You helped keep me centered, but I have never been more alone than I was on those nights."

"I thought I heard you. Every night the first few months especially, I'd be almost asleep, and hear..." John released a shuddering breath. "I would run to find you, but you were never there. My loneliest night was the night I forced myself to ignore what I heard."

"But, we're _not_ alone, not any longer..." Sherlock scooted a little closer to John.

"Never again." John smiled and with a yawn shifted to lay on his back once more. "Mmm. Sleep now."

"Should we set an alarm?"

"Do you have some place to be?" John laughed. "We're on holiday."

Sherlock sighed, content, then gingerly laid his head on John's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"Rest well, Sherlock."


	17. Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Childhood is another country but also a waiting-room, a state of accommodation and acceptance.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Neither had ever slept so well. John opened his eyes first, and looked at his friend, still curled against his good shoulder. The grey skies had ended in the night at some point and the clear early morning light softened the edges that John always found a bit intimidating. In the softness he glimpsed a memory of his young friend.

"Oh! I see. There you are...how could I have missed it?"

Sherlock blinked awake at John's quiet exclamation and sat up so he could examine his friend's face properly. "John? Wha - oh. Oh, yes. All this time you were right there beside me." He took John's hand in his and pressed it against his own chest. "You were always right here; our eyes could not recognise our younger selves until our hearts could." He laid his ear against John's strong chest and closed his eyes. 

"Yes, you were always with me, Sherlock." John could not keep his eyes open, and they went back to sleep until the bright afternoon light tapped on Sherlock's shoulder, finally shaking him awake.

"For once, I understand how someone could claim to be so hungry they could eat a horse." He stretched, ruffled his hair and rubbed his chin in surprise. "Have we been gone so long from civilization that I have forgotten myself?"

John laughed, his eyes glittered at his friend in amusement. "No, Sherlock, I believe you have found yourself."

Sherlock grinned, then became serious. "Yes, I rediscovered my better self. Shower, shave, then food!! Come, John!

They sped through their ablutions, and walked side by side towards Andreas' cafe, when they spotted two boys, one slightly older than the other, obviously best friends, in the way they traveled together bouncing off of one another, yelling insults, wrestling...they stopped as they spotted Sherlock and John and knew them for who they were.

"No coat, no scarf, no silly hat...but him." The older walked a circle around Sherlock.

The younger looked skeptical and whispered, "Φαίνεται ψηλότερος στις φωτογραφίες"* from his hand motions, John could tell he was questioning the great man's stature.

"Καλό παλτό, κοντός φίλος"** Sherlock whispered back.

The boys laughed, and Sherlock bowed his head to the younger one and said, "Αν τον αγαπάς, μην τον αφήσεις να φύγει."

The younger one nodded in response, and grabbed his friend's hand tightly as they bowed then ran off.

"What did you tell him?" John asked, quietly.

"If you love him, don't let him go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Φαίνεται ψηλότερος στις φωτογραφίες = Looks taller in photos
> 
> **Καλό παλτό, κοντός φίλος = Good coat, shorter friend


	18. Koinonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"...then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.”_ ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There is a glossary of Greek words not already defined in the text of the story at the end of this chapter_

"My young friends! Καλώς ορίσατε! I am happy you have come." Andreas greeted them on the street a few blocks from his cafe. He sat the crate of produce he was carrying down and hugged them both tightly, placing kisses on their cheeks. "Today is a happy day. Έχουμε γιορτή!"

Before he could protest, John picked up the crate; Andreas patted his arm. "Thank you, my friend. These old hands..." He shook his head and smiled. "Enough of that!" He motioned for them to follow him toward the town square. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, John shrugged, and because neither of them could resist the draw of curiosity, they hurried to follow after him.

The streets were humming with activity as the residents of the little town bustled around them. No one had proven anything but friendly before, but that day everyone they met was of an intriguingly jovial good humor. 

Kya, who had wandered home (they'd not been inclined to lock or even close the doors of the cottage, in favor of letting in the fresh air) at some point during the long nap, barked cheerfully when she spotted her new companions, and trotted along after them.

And the town itself had been transformed. Every door was adorned with wreaths or garlands. Flags, banners and streamers in bright blue and brilliant white fluttered in the breeze. Dozens of long tables were being set up around the square, and the whole park was decorated with paper lanterns and twinkling lights.

"What is all of this?" John shifted his hold on the crate and took in the decorations and activity with a look of boyish wonder on his face.

"Is it a holiday?" Sherlock turned in a slow circle. "I wasn't aware of..."

"Not a holiday, παράδοση -- a tradition." Andreas took the crate from John and handed it to a man who had been stoking a large fire, over which sat an actual cauldron. "Σε ευχαριστώ φίλε μου." He quickly introduced the other man as Dimitris, another restaurateur, then with a hasty farewell to his friend, motioned to John and Sherlock to follow him. "I will explain all, but first I think you are in need of lunch. Come! You will join my Ioanna and me."

They couldn't help but laugh as Andreas led them in and out of crowds of people, shouting greetings as he went. He ushered them, along with Kya, around the side of his cafe, through a door on the side of the building and up a narrow staircase that opened into tiny but well lived in and loved rooms. 

"Ioanna, πολυαγαπημένη μου!" Andreas called. "We've guests! The friends I told you about." Sherlock and John shared a grin.

"Andreas, ανόητε άντρα, always so excited. What are you... Oh." Ioanna stopped short when she laid eyes on Sherlock. "Oh, my boy. So like your parents." She wrapped him in a crushing embrace and held on for a moment. When she pulled back, she looked him in the eyes and smiled warmly. "Your mother was my friend." She reached up and patted his cheek. "She would agree, παραείσαι αδύνατος." Sherlock blinked rapidly and huffed a laugh.

Ioanna turned then to John. His hug was no less intense. "It is a great honor to meet you." She placed a kiss on his cheek and grinned. "You both will sit and eat with us." She took John's arm and directed him to a table that was too large for the tiny room. "Come, sit. Both of you must eat. Look at you. English food is no good... Come, Andreas. Help me serve our friends."

John chuckled as their hosts bustled about the kitchen and Kya settled at their feet under the table. He leaned over to Sherlock, who was looking equal parts bemused and bewildered, and whispered, "I'm afraid it's become Ioanna's personal mission to feed us up."

Sherlock's stomach rumbled, and they both laughed. "I may be inclined to let her."

"I wonder what Mrs. Hudson would have to say about her cooking not being good enough for us?" 

Shaking his head, Sherlock feigned concern. "She must never find out. I dare say it would destroy her."

"I suppose I can suffer through the fry ups and fresh scones." John sighed dramatically. "If it will spare her feelings."

"It's a burden we most certainly must bear." They were giggling like boys when Andreas placed a large pot of beef stew* (with the tiny onions Sherlock was always suspicious of, though he determined to try them just this once, and actually liked them) on the table, and Ioanna carried over a tray laden with thickly cut crusty bread** (John couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed when he groaned in pleasure with his first bite of the still warm bread) and a heavenly looking honey cake*** for dessert.

They were well into their second helping of stew before Sherlock paused long enough to ask Andreas about the festivities.

"Oh yes! Andreas, they must be our honored guests."

"Yes, of course, Αγάπη μου." Andreas squeezed Ioanna's hand. "Sherlock, you asked about a holiday. It is not one that is found on any official calendar. It is unique to our little island, and one that we celebrate monthly. Do you know κοινωνία?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he searched for the meaning of the word. While he was otherwise occupied and not likely to notice, Ioanna added more stew to his bowl. When John winked conspiratorially at her, she looked at him pointedly, then at his nearly empty bowl, and back up. Realizing this was a fight he was not going to win, John slid his bowl over to be filled again.

"I can't seem to find a suitable translation for κοινωνία." Sherlock tested the word, and said it again, " _Κοινωνία._ What is it?" He looked down at his bowl, blinked, looked up at Ioanna who smiled sweetly at him, shrugged, and tucked in once more.

"There is no one word in English for κοινωνία. It is a close bond, as brothers, or kindred spirits perhaps, would have. A sharing of joys and pains, an understanding of unity and support, that the greatest wealth is found in each other. There is no room for pride, vanity, jealousy, or division." Andreas shook his head. "I am sorry, it is a hard thing to explain in English. But it is a very simple idea."

" _Κοινωνία._ A lovely idea. A unique approach to life, is it not?" John smiled and bumped his shoulder against Sherlock's.

"Truly singular. An idea I believe we have become well acquainted with, especially in our time here." Sherlock bumped John's shoulder in response, and sat back in his chair with a contented sigh. "And your town celebrates this idea of community each month?" He held up his hand to stop Ioanna from filling his bowl once more, despite her pouting frown.

"We do, with a communal meal. Everyone contributes. John, the crate you carried earlier was vegetables and herbs from my own garden. Dimitris is contributing his skill as chef this month. Ioanna and some of the other ladies will have desserts there. Those who have no food or cooking ability to contribute provide tables, or dishes. Or they help decorate, or provide entertainment once the meal is finished."

"And tonight you will be our guests, seated at our table. You will share with us, as cherished friends." Not one to take rejection sitting down, Ioanna cut thick wedges of the honey cake and placed them in front of her guests. 

"I'm... _we're_ honored." John glanced at Sherlock who nodded and hummed his consent around a bite of cake. "But we've nothing to contribute."

"Nonsense!" Andreas laughed as he stood to help Ioanna clear the table. "You bring φιλία -- friendship -- to the table, and that is ζωτικό. Without it, there is no reason to gather. And perhaps, over dinner, you can regale us with an adventure or two?"

"Something that hasn't made it to the blog might be in order, I would say." John laughed. When he started to stack up dishes, Ioanna swatted his hands away, as she would a small child.

Sherlock leaned over to whisper to John, "There may be something more I can contribute. I saw some violins in a shop window earlier..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Glossary of Greek words**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Καλώς ορίσατε! - welcome
> 
> Έχουμε γιορτή - We feast!
> 
> Σε ευχαριστώ φίλε μου - thank you, my friend
> 
> πολυαγαπημένη μου - my dearest
> 
> ανόητε άντρα - silly man
> 
> παραείσαι αδύνατος - too thin
> 
> Αγάπη μου- my beloved
> 
> κοινωνία - _koinonia_ This one is difficult to translate into just one English word. The essential meaning conveys concepts in the English terms: community, communion, joint participation, sharing and intimacy. Koinonia can be used to mean a jointly contributed gift.
> 
> ζωτικό - vital, most important
> 
>  
> 
> ******  
>  **The lunch Ioanna made:**  
>  *Stifado - beef stew with little onions  
> **Psomi - loaf bread  
> ***Melopita - called honey cake, though it is a cheese and honey tart


	19. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Children should always show great forbearance toward grown-up people.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint Exupery, The Little Prince

Sherlock found himself being thoughtfully examined by the younger of the two friends they had seen earlier.

"You are διάσημος, uhm, the word - famous - yes?" He narrowed his eyes at him.

"Sometimes." Sherlock nodded.

"What for?"

"Hmmm...I'm a detective..."

"Yes, yes -" the boy sighed, impatiently. "I mean, why, how?"

"Ah - that's different."

"How different?"

"Why and how are different from what for - the what for is mostly for helping the what you call αστυνομία - police, solve mysteries." The boy nodded. "The why is because sometimes - hmmm, grownups like it when - hmm, to be honest, I think I'm mostly famous because of the coat and scarf, and the silly hat." The boy laughed, and nodded again. "And the how?" The boy looked expectantly at him. "The how is that my friend writes stories about me, about our adventures, and lots of people read them. Some days, I think he is more famous than I am. Why do you ask?"

"Some day, I'd like to be famous."

"Why?" Sherlock gave him his full attention.

"Why? So I can leave."

"Why would you ever want to leave here?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "I want to do something big, uhm - ιδιαίτερος, special, you understand, yes?"

Sherlock nodded, and popped a cured olive into his mouth, waiting for him to go on.

"I want to be so good, that I can leave and travel and be famous, then come back and not be famous. Yes?"

"Mmmm. Yes, I see - what do you want to be famous for?"

The boy blushed. "My papa plays the fiddle, he wants me to learn, but his fiddle is too big for me still. I want to be famous for playing - but I don't know how yet. I mean, I know how, but just haven't yet."

Sherlock smiled. "I've noticed some violins in the shop in the village..."

The boy blushed again, harder this time. "No, I mean, I wasn't asking - I -"

"No, please, let me talk to your papa and we can go look, yes? Only, if it's okay with you, of course?"

"Please, yes, I'd like very much."

After much discussion, Sherlock managed to convince the boy's father to allow him to give the boy the gift of the violin and he, John and the boy, Alexandros, "but you can call me Alex" went in search of the thing that would start Alex on his road to 'famous.'

As they walked back to the celebration, Alex already running ahead to share his good fortune, John slipped his hand into Sherlock's and leaned against him. "He will never forget you, even if he never leaves, he will always remember you with love. His face as you put it into his hands, I don't think I've ever seen such joy before, ever. Except, perhaps, on your face as he looked up at you."

"I always wanted to be able to give a child the gift I was given, the opportunity to play - never thought I would have the chance. You gave me that gift by bringing us here."

"No - you -"

Sherlock shook his head, "I never would have come here without you."

They finally made it back to the party, and Alex's father asked Sherlock to play something for them. "I know it is not your instrument, but please?" John winked at him, and Sherlock bowed, took the fiddle and played a long forgotten piece he had once learned, and loved, but his teacher considered it 'beneath his abilities' and encouraged the more difficult pieces. The villagers recognised dance music when they heard it, other musicians ran to grab their instruments and they danced and sang; ate and drank, well into the night.


	20. Beside Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"On one star, one planet, my planet, the Earth, there was a little prince to be comforted. I took him in my arms, and rocked him."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gorgeous artwork at the end of this chapter, of John and Sherlock on the beach, is used with permission by the lovely and wonderfully talented [anotherwellkeptsecret](http://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/). You can find the original Tumblr post [here](http://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/image/146422476859). You should definitely check out her other art, and you can also find her here on AO3 as [penumbra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbra/pseuds/penumbra). Many heartfelt thanks!

Sherlock startled awake with a gasp. Jarred by the sudden transition from the joyously dizzying brightness of the dream he'd been having to the dull grey of pre-dawn, he blinked rapidly to allow his eyes to adjust and search out the source of this unwelcome interruption.

There. He turned his head to the right and came face to face with Kya. Her chin rested on the edge of the bed, she looked up at him with pleading, intense eyes, and whined. Were she human, Sherlock would have thought her to be crying.

"What's wrong, girl?" He scratched behind her ears. "John? John something's wrong with..." Sherlock reached out to his left for John only to find the spot beside him empty. He checked the time; they'd only been back at the cottage a few hours.

Despite the fact that Sherlock's music had been the catalyst for the dancing and revelry, it was John who had quickly become the central figure at the town party. He'd never found himself lacking a dance partner, though he'd insisted vehemently that he was no good. He caught on to the steps well enough, in his bumbling endearing way, and by the end of the evening had quite enamored himself to the female population of the town.

When he wasn't being pulled and spun around the dance floor, John would find himself surrounded by the village men and more than a few curious children, with a drink pressed into his hand, and pleas for a story. He'd regale them with adventure after adventure, never needing to exaggerate the details -- ah, what a life those two gentlemen lead, indeed. The results were always the same, exclamations of shock and occasionally horror, raucous laughter, and riotous cheering upon the conclusion. John somehow always managed to turn the focus from himself to Sherlock.

When the festivities died down, they'd insisted upon staying to help clean up. Several offers were made to allow them the use of guest rooms or hideaway beds, but they'd both agreed they'd rather return to the cottage. While Sherlock was still a bit wound up and would have made the walk back without complaint, John had accepted readily when Callia offered to drive them. Upon arrival, with little discussion and no fanfare, they'd collapsed contentedly into the bed.

John had been worn out past the point of exhaustion. And upon deeper consideration, Sherlock realized he'd been favoring his left arm the last couple of hours they were in town. His shoulder most certainly would have been aching. _Damn it._

Sherlock was up in an instant and turned on the bedside lamp. The sheets on John’s side of the bed were in disarray, and his pillow was on the floor. _Shit._

Kya was whimpering and prancing anxiously in the doorway. "Where is he, Kya? Where's our friend?" Kya darted out the door with a yip, and Sherlock followed close behind. They bypassed the kitchen and main room, as Kya led him out the back door of the cottage.

John was there, halfway between the patio and the sea. He was sitting with his legs folded under him, arms wrapped around his middle, facing out toward the sea, and staring out at nothing in particular.

"John?" Sherlock spoke his friend's name softly, not wanting to startle him. He approached allowing some distance to remain between them. "John, I'm here."

Kya's approach was less cautious. She sat directly in front of John, ears pressed back against her head and whined. When John didn't respond immediately, she nosed his crossed arms. John blinked a few times and looked at Kya, eyes finally focusing, then up at Sherlock, and back to the dog. He reached his trembling left hand out, buried his fingers in her fur, and whispered to Kya, "Traitor." It was enough response for her, and she scooted close enough that she could lean against his chest.

"I told her not to wake you." John didn't make eye contact, staring out over the water once more.

Sherlock huffed a gentle laugh. "She is her own master, I think." He stepped directly next to John. "Nightmare?"

John nodded, and finally looked up into Sherlock's eyes. "It was lovely. We were at the party. You were playing, and it was beautiful. You were beautiful. Everything was perfect. But then the town changed. There were still people and music, still those paper lanterns, but it was Afghanistan. And it was a scene I've seen before, in real life. We were on patrol, it was a wedding party... There was a bomb... But this time -- in the dream -- you were..." John took a shuddering breath and hugged Kya. He shifted so that he was sitting with his legs straight in front of him. Kya lay across his lap, still pressed close up against him.

"I knew it was a dream as soon as I woke up. You were there beside me. Still breathing. Still beautiful, despite the fact that you were drooling on your pillow."

"I don't drool." Sherlock eased himself down onto the sand behind John. "Okay?"

Humming his consent, John allowed Sherlock to settle around him. He leaned back into Sherlock's chest, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. "You do drool," John attempted a weak laugh.

"What happened, John?"

"You were there, next to me, and that... It helped. A lot, actually." John sighed. "But I didn't want to wake you, so I came outside to get some air and..."

"The sand."

"Mhmm." John relaxed a little more against Sherlock. "And then..." He drew in a deep breath. "When I was in Afghanistan, we'd be out in the desert, desperate for a break from the harsh sun, and these little storm clouds would pop up above the mountains, just taunting us because we knew they'd never make it." John looked out over the sea once more, and Sherlock followed his gaze. Out in the distance low dark clouds and lightening were visible above one of the neighboring islands; the low rumble of thunder was barely perceptible. "With my shoulder aching, everything just sort of came rushing back."

"John, you don't have to face these things alone. Never again."

"I know." John voice wavered.

"I don't want you to. I don't like this, seeing you like this. I know you're going to have nightmares, and some unexpected situation might force your memories, but... You said just now that my being beside you helped. I want to be beside you, John."

Leaning his head back on Sherlock's shoulder, John sighed again, fully relaxed. "I want that too. Please."

They sat for several moments, Sherlock breathing and John following. "I dreamt of the party as well. You were beautiful in my dream too. Last night in town, the way you are with people, always, you were beautiful."

John huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. He started to retort, but was overtaken by a yawn.

"Do you want to go back to bed? I can make tea, or we can walk, or..."

"A walk later, maybe we can go exploring? But now, can we just watch the sunrise?"

"Of course." Sherlock held him a little tighter. "Anything you want."

"I don't care what we do, as long as you're beside me."

 


	21. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You see, one loves the sunset when one is so sad.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

They sat quietly, watching as the sky changed from a bright flaming orange, then to dark apricot, fading to pale ochres and yellows; finally settling into a soft, yet bright blue grey tinged with pink clouds. Sherlock began speaking without meaning to:

"I was somewhere, can't remember where exactly...I had taken apart one of the more vicious of Moriarty's cells, and I needed to breathe, needed to remind myself why..."

John stilled, and waited, his breath caught in his throat. Sherlock had never spoken of his time away. It had been years, John had never asked, had let it go long ago. He simply closed his eyes and felt Sherlock's words more than heard them.

"...why I was away from you. I found myself on a beach, it was freezing, but not quite winter. I took off my shoes, then my socks, then I just stripped and walked into the water, just kept walking until I couldn't touch bottom any longer, started floating. I looked up and saw the most unreal colours, there aren't even names for them...and I knew, somehow, I knew you were watching the same sky, I don't know how, but I felt you thinking of me. As the sky darkened, and the stars began to appear, I was able to catch my breath. I got out of the water and I got dressed and got on with it. From then on, whenever I needed to remind myself of why, I went into my head and thought of that sunset, but instead of being alone, you were floating with me, your hand barely brushed mine, but I knew you were there next to me."

They sat for a few more moments, quietly together until Kya nudged a stick towards John and bounded away.

John turned in Sherlock's arms and looked at his friend, staring out into the ocean. "Thank you." He wiped a single tear from Sherlock's face that he was sure had fallen unnoticed.

"Hmmm?" Sherlock blinked down at him. "For what?"

"I never got to thank you for, uhm, for saving me. You never let me -"

Sherlock shook his head. "When you were still there, in our flat, going on with things, that was enough, and when you let me just come back, be there with you again, as we had before...you have no idea what that meant to me, still means now. I may have saved you then, but you have saved me time and time again. You don't know how lost I'd be without you."

"You're wrong, I do know. I do." John stood and threw the stick to Kya, then reached out for Sherlock's hand, and helped him up. "I think we need tea and toast, then a nice long walk, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and let John lead him back to the cottage. He felt lighter somehow, like he had lost a load of bricks from his chest, and John's hand was the only thing tethering him to the sand he walked upon.

"Maybe we can go find more of those cherries?" He murmured.

John looked back at him and nodded. "Sounds like a plan."


	22. Incomparable Wit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"If I had fifty-three minutes to spend as I liked, I should walk at my leisure..."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of pre-exploration banter.

Since Sherlock's morning routine, no matter how he tried to hurry, involved the unenviable task of reigning in the wild mop of curls, John took first turn in the loo. He showered and shaved quickly, noting the lack of dark circles under his eyes and worry/exhaustion lines around his mouth, despite having barely slept the night before.

John felt more energized than he had in years.

He pulled on blue swim shorts and his old worn grey RAMC t-shirt.

"All yours." John stopped short at the scene before him. Sherlock lying on the floor, under Kya, and they were wrestling over one of Sherlock's ridiculously expensive socks. It had been tied into a complex series of knots? "Uhm..."

"She doesn't have any toys in this house, so I made one."

"Right. Well, now she has a taste for expensive socks that smell like you. Good luck with that." John laughed. "Shower's free. I'll make tea."

"Don't think you've won. We'll finish this later." Sherlock relinquished the sock knot to Kya with a huff, scratched behind her ears, and headed off to get ready.

John discovered the tiny kitchen was without a toaster. A true travesty, really. He was reluctant to turn on the oven just for toast, and decided against it. Instead he cut thick slices from the loaf Ioanna had wrapped up for them. He found the small pots of honey and fig preserves he'd picked up in town. Then made an actual pot of tea and loaded everything on a tray.

He decided to take their breakfast to the small table on the patio, and was basking in the warmth of the sun when Sherlock stepped out. Hair artfully tousled, _berk_ , yet another pristine linen shirt, and...

"Purple? You have purple swim shorts?" John almost dropped his tea.

"Aubergine." Sherlock corrected, and reached to examine the pot of honey.

"Wait. Before you do anything, try this." John handed his own slice of bread over to Sherlock. He'd spread the preserves on thick and then drizzled it with the honey. It was pretty damn fantastic, if he did say so himself.

Sherlock studied the concoction for a moment, took a large bite, and hummed in delight. "I don't care what anyone says about you," he mumbled around a full mouth, "You, John Watson, are a genius."

"If people are saying disparaging things about me and you aren't handling it, we need to talk." John smirked and held out his hand. "Now gimme. That's _my_ breakfast."

Glancing at John's hand, Sherlock shoved the remaining slice of bread in his mouth. "Ooopth."

"Charming." Rolling his eyes, John fixed himself another slice of bread and poured more tea into his cup. "I thought we could walk the other way around to town, see more of the island?"

Humming his consent, Sherlock was clearly preoccupied. He had to try the bread plain, as a control sample. Then the bread with just preserves. Followed by the bread with just honey. And then he could experiment with different honey-to-preserve ratios...

"Right. I'll just leave you to it." John couldn't help but laugh as he cleared away most of the tea things, and left Sherlock alone to experiment. He washed the few dishes he had and decided to pack a small knapsack to take with them as they explored.

"John?" Sherlock brought his plate and the empty pots to the sink. "We're going to need more honey and preserves."

"I assumed we would," John laughed.

"And also, the cherries."

"Right."

"Maybe some figs? And I had some cured olives at the party, we'll need some of those."

"All right," John laughed. "Nice to see the food agrees with you."

"And I with it." Sherlock grinned. "I wonder if Ioanna could spare a loaf of bread. Oh, or honey cake... What's this?" Sherlock picked up John's knapsack.

"A few supplies to take along while we're exploring." John sat down to pull on his shoes.

"Supplies? John, you worry too much."

"Just a couple bottles of water. My wallet and pocket knife. Sun screen. A towel..."

"A towel?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "That seems unnecessary."

"I read once that you can't really trust a man who goes on an adventure without one." John shrugged and grinned mischievously. "You never know what or who we'll come across. Besides, what if we swim?"

"Ah, Hitchhiker's Guide." Sherlock nodded in appreciation. "Fine. I'll concede the point."

"Okay, but that's _my_ towel. You'll have to bring your own."

Sherlock sighed and feigned frustration. "Do you mind if I put _my_ towel in _your_ bag? And my wallet?"

"Since you asked so nicely. Put your wallet in the small pocket with mine, next to the first aid kit."

"First aid kit?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at John. "Really?"

"I know us." John shrugged. They both looked down at John's right foot.

Sherlock huffed a laugh. "I guess it's true."

"Hmm?"

"You can take the doctor out of the army, but you can't take the army out of the doctor."

John gigglesnorted. "Ha ha. Sherlock Holmes and his incomparable wit, ladies and gentlemen. He'll be here all week." 

"Idiot." Sherlock laughed. He tossed John the knapsack, and reached out for his hand. "C'mon. Let's go explore."


	23. Explore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The one thing I love in life is to sleep.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> found this article, which I discovered as I began to write this chapter:
> 
> https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2012/may/13/gardening-dan-pearson-odyssey-wild-flowers

The other way into town was less populated, there were fewer cottages, less pasture, it was more mountainous, but more colourful. The villagers had told them that the weather had been seasonably warm this season, but they were still surprised by variety of species and contrasting colours. Purples mixed with soft yellows, a dash of soft pinks and the brightness of the lupin, bluer than the sky above them took their breath away.

They climbed in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, at one point, John stopped. "We've been walking for three hours."

"Really?" Sherlock considered. He usually never lost track of time, but he was so taken by the scenery around him, it didn't surprise him that much. "This feels so familiar somehow. Like I've seen it before. Oh. John. My mum, she did watercolours of this place. She had a little sketch book that she had taken with her on her honeymoon, or perhaps it was on a return trip, she sketched all these flowers. My mum was here, John, in this same spot, it hasn't changed much, except the trees are bigger, the ones that are left. When she painted them, they were part of a much bigger grove, there were people, working...it was less wild then, the colours were the same though."

John watched Sherlock's whole demeanour soften, his hard angles rounded out, and again he saw his friend as a child, the controlled curls were as wild as the flowers, a smudge of dirt on one cheek made him grin. "What?" Sherlock glared half-heartedly at him.

John shook his head and said, "Let's stop for a bit, have some water, take a rest?"

They spread out their towels side by side, laid down and stared up at the blue sky dotted with clouds. "Hmmm...a horse? No....now it's an octopus...."

"What are you on about?" John muttered.

"The clouds, John, did you never lie on the ground and try to find shapes in the clouds? Like there, that one -" he pointed to an oddly shaped one, "that looks almost like a London cab - nooo, now it's a sheep."

"Oh, now I see it - an elephant, which just turned into a giraffe..."

"Yes!" Sherlock laughed and John's heart flipped. He closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock's discoveries, and after some time, heard his voice change. "You're probably asleep, you do like your nap, more than anyone I know. I just want to thank you again, for everything. I never seem to thank you enough, whether there is never enough time, or I forget, or whatever. You are the most important person in my life, always have been, always shall be. Oh...the bees, it's so quiet, I can hear the bees, John. Thank you, John."

He laid down and to John's amazement, fell fast asleep.

"No, my friend, thank you."


	24. Old Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"When someone blushes, doesn't that mean 'yes'?"_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The absolutely gorgeous artwork included at the end of this chapter is by the brilliantly talented [youmicielnonikki](http://youmicielnonikki.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr. Go check out her blog, or leave some love on her [art blog.](http://youmicielnobyoga.tumblr.com)

Sherlock yawned and stretched. He blinked rapidly to diffuse the... odd... light... What? He blinked again and then chuckled. "Always the soldier."

Having used his towel and some sticks, John had constructed a sort of sun shield to provide Sherlock some shade while he slept. 

"John?" He looked around, but didn't see John anywhere. Sherlock stood, closed his eyes and listened as he turned in a slow circle. What he heard was a glorious symphony. The crash of the surf on the beach below. The constant hum of the bees. The staccato trill of the birds. And there... in melodic counterpoint, Sherlock could hear John talking.

He made his way slowly, as quietly as possible to where John was sitting with has back to him. He covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at the scene. Kya had caught up to them, of course she had. She was laying across John’s legs, and looking up at him with intense eyes, as if she understood every word he was saying. She was wearing lovely crown of flowers on her head.

Sherlock stayed perfectly still to hear what John was saying.

"...and here, I thought the brother had used the cat to do it. You and I both know, cats are the worst, yeah? If they had thumbs, those guys would murder us all and take over the world. But Sherlock knew it was the gardener the whole time, and just chose to let me carry on. He can be a right arse sometimes... but he's the best friend I've ever had. The only real, true friend. And I'd die for him, I would... but I don't think I'll have to. I think we're gonna grow old together. I love him."

The entire time John talked he was effortlessly weaving together flower stems, carefully choosing colors and sizes, into a long flower rope. He stopped what he was doing to scratch Kya's head. "He's right behind me isn't he?" Kya looked past John at Sherlock, and he swore he saw her grin.

Sherlock's heart was doing a funny sort of thing, as if his chest was too small to contain it. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a joyous bark of laughter, and he didn't fight it. He took his place next to John and they grinned at each other.

"I knew you were there. You're not as stealthy as you think." John bumped their shoulders together.

"Git."

"Prat."

"So, what is this?" Sherlock lifted the flower garland gingerly and inspected it. It was gorgeous, delicate, yet there was no way it was going to fall apart. He was in awe of John's workmanship.

John laughed. "I guess you wouldn't have spent most of your childhood forced into making flower chains for an overbearing older sister. I don't know, the flowers are so... beautiful hardly seems adequate does it? And I thought I'd make something from them to thank Ioanna and Andreas... It's stupid..."

"No! No it's perfect. Ioanna will love it. It's lovely, John." Sherlock ducked his head. "Can you... will you teach me?"

"Of course, here..." John giggled as he demonstrated for Sherlock. After a few rough starts, Sherlock found a rhythm, and they sat in companionable silence for a while, both aware they must look like children, and in their hearts that's exactly how they felt.

"That thing you said..." Sherlock's voice was soft. "Before. I want to do that too."

John cocked an eyebrow at him and then laughed. Sherlock was wearing a purple flower crown perched rakishly atop his curls. "Which part..."

"Growing old together. That. Let's do that."

"I thought that was always the plan." 

Sherlock hummed, content, and returned to his flowers. After a few more minutes, "Thanks for the shade."

"Didn't want you to get burned. But I wanted to let you sleep after waking you so early this morning."

"How long did I sleep?"

"Only about half an hour." John held up his flower chain. "I think it's done."

"It really is lovely, John."

"Are you ready to head into town for some lunch? I'm starving."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, but wait... Here." He held up another crown of brilliant blue and golden flowers. "For you." John grinned a mischievously boyish grin. Sherlock placed it carefully on John's head, arranging it just so.

"Everyone in town is going to be jealous." John laughed as he stood. He held out his hand and helped Sherlock up. They bundled the flower garland carefully into one of the towels, which Sherlock carried gingerly in front of him. 

"Well, if they are, we can teach them to make their own flower crowns." Sherlock shrugged.

"I don't just mean the flowers. They'll be jealous because I have you to grow old with."

"Hmm. No, I think I'm the one they'll be most envious of." Sherlock huffed a laugh at John actually blushing. He grabbed his friend's hand. "C'mon. Let's go see Ioanna."


	25. Unsolvable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint Exupéry, The Little Prince

There were moments when he wished he hadn't lost his phone, so he could capture the serene expression that appeared so easily on Sherlock's face that afternoon, as they walked into the village. No one in London would ever believe it, if he attempted to describe the man they thought they knew bedecked in crowns of wildflowers on a small Grecian island. But, he suddenly realised these moments were for him alone, and the mystery of how this came to be was not lost on him. In fact, he spent a great deal of time over the last years attempting to understand how it was that he of all people had become Sherlock's historian. He was the one who knew every mood and smile, his strops and his joys, his fears and his triumphs. John was lost in his thoughts when Sherlock turned towards him.

"John?"

John looked into Sherlock's eyes and had no answers, he had no earthly clue why he was chosen, and he understood finally that the why did not matter. He glanced at the crown of flowers that hung crookedly over one raised eyebrow and laughed.

"What?"

"You are magical. Long ago, you cast a spell over me, and I have yet to comprehend how or why."

"The feeling is entirely mutual; you have bewitched me from the beginning, my one unsolvable mystery. I gave up long ago trying to unravel it; you may as well try to explain birds or flowers or the wind that is currently blowing your hair, it is a puzzle with too many pieces; I am content to spend my life not knowing the answer."

"Sherlock, John!" Ioanna captured them in a crushing embrace, and they surrendered completely to her carefree joy; she accepted her gift and they hooked arms and carried her as if she were a queen. She tossed kisses to the gathering crowds and they returned them wholeheartedly.

John caught Sherlock's eye and recognised they both understood this moment as something to be treasured, a moment of perfection that they would always remember, no matter how long they lived.

Ioanna slipped easily from their arms, and she kissed both of them soundly. "You need more bread, figs, definitely figs, olives...."

"and cherries!" Sherlock grinned.

"And cherries, this man needs cherries!" Ioanna shouted, and a basket of cherries appeared. John couldn't help but laugh at the utter astonishment in Sherlock's bright eyes. 

"Ask and ye shall receive." John popped a cherry into Sherlock's mouth, before he could utter another word, and the look of sheer bliss that overtook his friend's features made him sigh.

"I..."

"I know, John. Believe me, I know."


	26. A Brief Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy ready-made things in the shops... there are no shops where you can buy friends..."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unwanted interference from London.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary of Greek words in the end notes...

Andreas watched their raucous, gleeful approach with a laugh. "Βασίλισσα μου, _my queen,_ have these two young κατεργάρηδες come to steal you away from me?" He admired her flowers with a wink.

"Such φαντασία." Ioanna patted her husband's cheek and gave him a quick kiss. "Αστείος άνθρωπος. No one could ever steal me from you."

Andreas kissed his wife and turned to John, "It is good you have come, αγαπημένοι. John, you've a δέμα -- uhm, a parcel, yes? Come, come inside and rest. You've had a full morning."

"Are you expecting anything?" Sherlock frowned as he sorted out the cherries, and figs, and olives, and...

"Nothing. I wasn't even sure where we were coming. I didn’t tell anyone." John shrugged as he slid the rucksack off his shoulders.

"Here you are, my friend. It only arrived this morning." Andreas handed the box to John.

John ripped the tape away before Sherlock could protest. "Oh god. How did he..." He rolled his eyes and held up a new mobile. "I'll give you one guess."

"You know I never guess," Sherlock growled and snatched the box from John. He retrieved a handwritten note, scanned over it, crumpled it up and shoved it back in the box. He then pulled a power cord for his own mobile from the box.

John laughed. "It must be making him crazy that he can't keep tabs on us, with mine in the  bottom of the ocean, and yours certainly dead by now. Is it still in your carry-on?"

Sherlock nodded grudgingly. "And I don't plan on turning it on until we're home."

With a laugh, Andreas clapped Sherlock on the back. "It's just as well, my friend. There is no mobile service here."

Curious, John turned on his new mobile, and laughed. "It's true. Not even the odious one can do anything about that."

"Oh, I imagine he could, given the proper motivation." Sherlock took the mobile from John's hand, turned it off and dropped it back in the box. "Andreas, do you mind holding this for a couple more days? John won't be needing it."

"We haven’t taken any pictures, Sherlock. Maybe I should keep it?"

"Keep it if you like, John. It is yours. But I have seen a lot of beauty here..." Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder. "And not a single one of my favorite memories has been something that could be captured on film."

"At least not anything I'm willing to share with anyone else. So, you're right, you great sentimental git." John laughed. "Andreas?"

"Of course, my friends." Andreas smiled warmly and took the box to hide it away.

"Uhm, Sherlock... I think someone is looking for you." John tilted his head toward the open door. Alex was standing there, clutching a familiar case.

"Do you mind? Just a few minutes?" Sherlock's eyes shone with excitement.

"Go on then." John grinned and pushed him toward the door. "I'll pack these things up, and see about some lunch."

Alex waved at John, took Sherlock's hand, began chattering away. John chuckled when Sherlock looked back at him with a combined look of pure joy and wonder.

"You are truly τυχερός -- ah, _lucky_ \-- my young friend. Most people never find what you have found with your Sherlock." Ioanna placed a basket and two wrapped loves of bread on the table.

"We're not, uhm..."

"You are αδελφές ψυχές, are you not?"

John ducked his head and smiled. "If that means soulmates, then yes. I do think so."

Ioanna took John's face in her hands and smiled at him warmly. "You have found each other. That is all that matters then, is it not?" John sniffed and nodded, then wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"He loves you very much."

"And I him." John whispered.

"It is true then?" Andreas laughed. "The young physician has come to steal away την καρδιά μου."

"I wouldn't dare." John laughed and held up his hands.

Ioanna shook her head and started loading the bread and produce into the basket. Andreas added a wrapped bundle and chilled bottle to the basket.

"You've been out on an adventure. You will definitely want a picnic lunch today. Here are some sandwiches, and some ζύθος -- an ale brewed on one of the larger islands. And of course," Andreas held up yet another bundle, "μπακλαβάς for dessert."

"We may never go home," John grinned.

"You are welcome here always, my friend. You are οικογένεια, _family,_ now." Andreas hugged John, kissed his cheek, and handed him the basket.

John gathered his things, and headed out in search of Sherlock. He stopped to buy a few pots of preserves and honey, and arranged to have a small case of each shipped to Baker Street as a surprise for Sherlock.

"John! Oh, Alex is a natural. He's so clever, and eager, and..." Sherlock panted to catch his breath. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did you... You did get more honey. And preserves? Did you find something for lunch? Maybe Andreas..."

"Sherlock!" John laughed. "Breathe! You are καταπληκτικός, you know that?"

Sherlock stopped short and turned to take the basket from John. He wrapped his friend in a tight hug. "John, it is you who never ceases to amaze me." They laughed when Sherlock's stomach rumbled.

Stepping back John grinned and pointed to the basket. "Picnic?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Κατεργάρης -- rascals
> 
> φαντασία -- imagination 
> 
> Αστείος άνθρωπος -- funny man
> 
> αγαπημένοι -- dear ones
> 
> την καρδιά μου -- my heart
> 
> μπακλαβάς -- baklava 
> 
> καταπληκτικός -- amazing


	27. awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That is the most difficult thing of all. It is much more difficult to judge oneself than to judge others. If you succeed judging yourself rightly, then you are indeed a man of true wisdom.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

They walked a little way out of the village, until John spotted an ancient olive tree, odd and twisted, but still flowering, it would bear fruit later in the year. They still had their towels, so spread them under the tree, and John laid out their feast, then they sat across from each other.

John laughed as Sherlock grabbed the carton of cherries, and held it against his chest. "Have some bread with preserves and honey first? We can save the sandwiches for later tonight if you wish, though they look πεντανόστιμα."

Sherlock again looked at John with surprise and admiration, as he had done earlier. "You have picked up the language very easily. Did you ever study languages in school?" He popped a cherry in his mouth and chewed happily.

John shook his head. "I was a jock, I needed to get a scholarship to go to Uni, so football became my focus, my teachers..." He looked down as though his sandwich had become interesting, suddenly.

"John?" Sherlock touched his face and made him look up.

"They were very surprised when I tested as well as I did. Not much was thought of my scholastic abilities, I would have liked very much to..."

Sherlock sat very still and waited.

"...have been taken seriously. I always doubted myself after - until I got through organic chemistry, no one expected that, but I didn't sleep for weeks in Uni, I had to prove to them that I was just as smart as they were, I finished top of my year, but still...in Med School, again, they thought little of my abilities...but I knew what I could do."

"I wish...how I wish I had been - I wish I could have written to you, helped you. You were the smartest child I had ever met, you knew everything, and you seemed so confident. You were the most capable person I had ever known. I am sorry you were treated as less than you were. And I'm so sorry if I ever made you feel -"

"No. Don't. I know who and what I am, you gave me the first idea of what I could be, who I could be in that short space of time. You made me believe I could do anything."

"You are lucky, John, to know yourself so well. I did what was expected and did it well enough for long enough, but it felt hollow, there was no challenge, no joy in it. Not until you, not until you saw me, I hadn't ever felt seen until that day that we met for what I thought was the first time in the lab. You have given me the gift of recognising what is good and valuable in me, and I never understood that is what a friend, a true friend should do. Especially considering you are the one and only true friend I have ever had."

John had to look away then. "You give me entirely too much credit, Sherlock. You -"

"No. No. Please. I know without you, I would have been lost long ago. I know I have not always been kind or respectful, I hope you know, it was just that I was out of practice. At one time, I did know how, because you had taught me once, and now, in this place, I have remembered myself."

"Eat your cherries." John popped one into his own mouth, then shoved one into Sherlock's open mouth to avoid further utterances. "I love you, too, my friend, my sweet, ridiculously lovely friend."

They spent the afternoon feeding each other bits of their picnic, talking about everything and nothing, and ending with Ioanna's remarkable μπακλαβάς, after which, John collapsed into Sherlock's lap, exhausted from too little sleep the night before and happily but not overly full from their picnic. He closed his eyes as Sherlock rested his back against the tree. "I'm here, John. Rest, my friend. You are safe. You are not alone. You are very much needed and loved."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> πεντανόστιμα - delicious


	28. Constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You - you alone will have the stars as no one else has them..."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

_"Do you see it?"_

_William sat up with a huff. "You said you were gonna teach me contha... con_ ste _llations, John. Everyone knows the big dipper. Even my stupid brother knows that one!"_

_"But if you find that one, you can find all the others. Have you seen Ursa Major? And Ursa Minor?" John was still lying on his back in the sand with his left arm under his head. He was tracing the outline of the constellations in the air above him with his right index finger._

_"Ursa Major?" William turned to look at his friend, and leaned over him. His face was right above John's, which made John giggle. "What does that mean?"_

_"It means Great Bear. In Latin, I think. Ursa Minor is Smaller Bear." John grinned at the confused look on William's face._

_"It doesn't look like a bear! What's so great about it if it doesn't look like a bear?"_

_"Not_ that _kind of great. The_ big _kind of great." John couldn't help giggling again. William was still staring down at him with a very serious expression. "And it_ does _look like a bear."_

_"Are you trying to trick me?" William frowned, and his expression became pinched. He sat back on his heels._

_John sat up quickly, eyes wide with worry. "I'm not!" He chewed on his lower lip as he thought about what to say to his friend. William watched him suspiciously._

_"Sometimes, if you look at something more than once, you can see it a different way." John offered tentatively._

_"Explain." William narrowed his eyes._

_Looking slightly embarrassed, John pulled his knees up to his chest. "I use to be afraid of the ocean. I was too scared to get in the water."_

_The hard, distrustful look on William's face softened. "But, you love the water. You're the fastest swimmer. You taught me..."_

_"I use to think it was too big and loud. One day, when I was little, my papa took me to the edge of the water. We just put our toes in and then our feet. He showed me how pretty and fun the ocean is." John's smile was bashful. "I had to look at it in a different kind of way before I liked it."_

_William nodded slowly, and then looked up at the night sky for several moments. He squinted his eyes. He opened them wide. He stretched up tall on his tippiest-tippy-toes. And then he flopped down so he was laying next to John and pouted. "I can't see a bear. Why can you see it, and I can't?"_

_"It's okay, William. I know what it looks like, I'll help you see it." John laid down so that his head was right next his friend's, and pointed up at the stars. "You have to look past what you already know, and see what else is there. The tip of the handle on the dipper is the bear's nose." He traced out the other stars in the formation with his finger._

_With a gasp, William sat up and clapped his hands. "John, I can see it!" He threw his arms around John and hugged him. "That was brilliant! Will you show me more? Can you show me the little bear too?"_

_John laughed and hugged William back. "I can show you more than that!"_

_William scrambled to lay back down. John showed him how to find the outline of the little bear. Then the big lion and the little one too. Jupiter and Mars were both visible, and William was astounded by the sight of actual planets. They found Pegasus, and John told William about the big white horse with wings, and how he thought that it was probably just made up, but one day he was going to go on an adventure and he would find out for sure. "And you can come too, William."_

_"Where will you go?"_

_"Everywhere. We can go anywhere we want. We can try everything. Even the scary things, because we won't be scared if we're together." John smiled up at the sky._

 

* * *

 

John eased awake. He inhaled deeply a few times before opening his eyes to see Sherlock's face right above his, his sea-before-a-storm eyes looking directly into his.

He giggled. He couldn't help it. Sherlock grinned down at him and brushed the hair back from John’s forehead.

"You were exhausted."

"How long was I asleep?" John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched again.

"About ninety minutes or so." Sherlock shrugged.

"You let me sleep on you for almost two hours! Why didn't you wake me? Or tell me to budge over?"

"I didn't mind. I was otherwise occupied, cataloguing."

John pushed himself up to sitting and faced Sherlock. "We've made a lot of memories, yeah? I should write them down too."

"We have, and you should, but I wasn't cataloguing those things..." When Sherlock looked up at John he was blushing. "I was cataloguing the muscles that move in your face when you move between REM cycles. Even in your sleep, you're fascinating."

Wide eyed, John just stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. "Of course." He stood and offered his hand to Sherlock. "Ανόητε άνθρωπε."

Sherlock grinned and then stumbled against John as he tried to stand. He stopped himself from falling with his hand on John's chest. "Η καρδιά μου."

With a tiny lopsided smile, John laid his hand over Sherlock's heart. "Η καρδιά μου." He looked up into Sherlock's eyes. "What are you cataloguing now?"

"Everything." Just barely more than a whisper.

Huffing a soft laugh John finally broke the eye contact. "Let's go to the cottage. Out to the beach. I want to watch the sunset." He gathered up the towels and shoved them in the rucksack. "C'mon. Your legs okay now?" He held out his hand and Sherlock took it eagerly and nodded.

"What's the rush?"

"No rush... I just... I had an idea and I don't want to talk myself out of it."

"Okay, John." Sherlock's smile was reassuring and warm.

They walked, hand in hand, the long way back to the cottage. Cutting across a pasture, they discovered the bee hives. Sherlock would have ordinarily been content to stay right there, but for his curiosity.

Everything but the towels was left on the patio table, as John, still holding tight to Sherlock's hand, led him out almost to the water's edge. The sun had only just begun to set, and the sky was an almost blindingly brilliant orange. It looked as if the sea was on fire.

Sherlock was humming and John recognized the piece he must have been composing in his head the whole trip. Sometimes it was as if he couldn't contain the music, and he'd burst if he tried. It was endearing, and John couldn't help but grin. He toed off his shoes as he watched Sherlock carefully spread out the towels, then pulled off his shirt and whipped it at his friend.

"Let's go." John was knee deep in the water and Sherlock was still staring at him in surprise, his jaw hanging a bit slack.

"John..."

With a sigh, John shrugged. "Too presumptuous. I shouldn't have..." He took a few steps back up out of the water. "I just thought maybe you'd like a real memory to replace the made up one. Though I hope we never find ourselves so far separated again that you need it." He started walking back toward Sherlock.

"Wait. No... I mean, yes. Just- just stop." Sherlock was hopping on one foot trying to get his shoe off. "Don't get out of the water. Stay. Please, John, stay right there." He threw the offensive shoe when he finally got it off. The other one was easier, but only just. John couldn't help but laugh as Sherlock stumbled along trying to get his shirt off. He only got truly stuck for about three seconds.

"John." Sherlock wrapped him in a crushing embrace. "Καταπληκτικός. You are." He broke the embrace and took both of John’s hands in his as he walked backwards into the sea.

The water got too deep for John to stand first. He let go of Sherlock's hands long enough to plunge under the water and swim out a bit farther. When he surfaced, John held out his hand and Sherlock swam out to him. "Which hand? In your memory, which hand did my hand brush?"

"My right," Sherlock whispered. John nodded and offered his left hand. Sherlock sniffed and blinked rapidly. "John." His voice broke.

"This is how it should have always been. We're righting it now. And this is how it'll always be. Always." John squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"Διαρκώς. Always." Sherlock shifted his hand so he could intertwine their fingers.

"Διαρκώς." John repeated softly.

They floated in silence then, watching the sun set. Watching the unnamed colors consume the sky. Watching the stars grow bright, and the constellations emerge. Watching each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ανόητε άνθρωπε - silly man
> 
> η καρδιά μου -- my heart
> 
> Καταπληκτικός -- amazing


	29. Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I felt him to be more fragile still. I felt the need of protecting him, as if he himself were a flame that might be extinguished by a little puff of wind.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"Ursa Major, there, there it is. Oh. I remember, John. I do, you told me it was a great bear and I thought you were pulling my leg..."

"...and Jupiter, and Pegasus... I remember, I remember everything, John, somehow -"

Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand, and John squeezed back. No words were needed, they had finally come to a place where it was enough simply to be together; no labels or definitions were necessary or even wanted. John could feel Sherlock's joy and stillness through his fingers, and in his eyes, John could sense his brilliant mind was at peace. He was so vulnerable and open, that John wanted to somehow find a way to bottle this moment up so he could decant it in their flat on those days when the world was just too big, too noisy -

"I know, John - it's enough. This moment, these few minutes with you, here, these few brilliant days...it's enough."

And John knew he was right.

"We should go in, it's getting chilly."

Sherlock nodded, and helped guide John back to shore. They gathered their towels, and headed into the cottage.

"Go get a bath and I'll build a fire?" Sherlock waved John to the tub and sat in front of the fireplace. John watched him settle and close his eyes. He knew Sherlock was already composing or rebuilding his Mind Palace; he would be incommunicado, even here, he needed time to be on his own. Suddenly, he understood he also relished this silence, as remarkable as these days had been, he needed his own space in which to fully appreciate, perhaps process what they had become, what they were still becoming to one another.

When he returned from his bath, refreshed and in clean clothes, he found Sherlock setting the table. He had cut up one of the loaves of bread, set out a jar of honey and one of fig preserves; and had placed the remaining cherries in a bright blue glass bowl.

"I was getting a bit peckish, all the sun and water, I think." Sherlock smiled at him as he sat down. John briefly looked his friend over; he had never seen him so healthy, his normally overly pale skin was glowing, his eyes were bright and clear, and he had gained three, no four pounds.

"Call it three and a half? I think most of it is in fig preserves and cherries." Sherlock rolled his eyes as he spread some preserves on a slab of bread and took a large bite.

John laughed and popped a cherry into his own mouth, and as it exploded, he understood Sherlock's obsession with them. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Sherlock covered John's hand with his own and noted John's own changed appearance. He had never seen him so relaxed, or so ready to smile at any point in their relationship up until now. His hair was regaining some of the gold of his youth, and the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. He was almost afraid to breathe too loudly, everything felt delicate, a bit fragile between them.

"It's okay, I feel the same. I'm afraid to think past the next few minutes. Let's eat and then you can have your bath? I brought a book along with me that was a favourite when I was in Uni, but I don't think I fully understood it until we came here. I'd love it if we read it together before we go to bed?"

Sherlock nodded, and they continued their meal in companionable silence.


	30. Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"For I do not want any one to read my book carelessly. I have suffered too much grief in setting down these memories."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Exhausted in the best possible way from the exertion and adventuring of the day, the nearly too hot water eased the slight ache in his muscles. Sherlock emerged from his bath more relaxed and content than he could ever remember feeling. Dressed in his softest, most comfortably worn pyjamas, he stepped into the main room and couldn’t help but laugh.

This man, his friend, την καρδιά του... How was it that he could so easily pull from within the deepest parts of Sherlock this joy, without doing or saying a thing? Simply his being, the life within him, was catalyst enough for more sentiment, more emotion than Sherlock thought any human ought to be capable.

"John, what is all of this?" Sherlock knew what it was. He remembered, oh he remembered, and his heart ached with the fullness of it, but his mind sought confirmation.

"Do you remember the day... It stormed the night before, and the rain stayed. It was miserable."

Sherlock nodded. "It was your last full day there. I cried because we'd planned one last adventure, it was going to be our best day ever..."

"Instead we pulled out your Aunt Tilly's old atlas, and she let us take that dusty globe down off the shelf..."

"It's the same one I have back at the flat," Sherlock whispered. John grinned up at him. He didn't remember having taken the steps to close the distance between them.

"Damn, we're idiots, aren't we? All this time, and I never realized." John held out his hand for Sherlock's, and sighed. "Tilly... she let us spread all those blankets and cushions out..."

"She built a fire in the fire place, and made us cocoa..." Sherlock lowered himself next to John onto the blankets and cushions he'd arranged by the fire. John handed him a mug.

"It's just tea. I didn't have the ingredients to make cocoa..."

"This is perfect."

"We spent all that day planning the places we'd go and the things we'd do. That day turned out to be my favorite day there with you." John had been staring into the fire as he remembered, and when he looked up at Sherlock his eyes shone with such warmth, Sherlock thought his already over full heart would burst

"But we never went..."

"Sherlock!" There was nothing mocking in John's laugh. It was the pure, sweet, uninhibited laugh Sherlock had grown to love. "Maybe it took longer than we'd planned back then, but look at where we are. You brought me to the place where Pegasus was born."

"John..." Sherlock tried to blink away the prickling he felt at his eyes.

"I know. It's almost too much to think about, isn't it?" John set his mug aside, and took Sherlock's from his hand. "C'mon."

It was all the invitation Sherlock needed. He scooted nearer, wrapped his arms around John’s middle and rested his head on John's shoulder. With a bit of shifting and shuffling, they were reclined back against a stack of cushions, a quilt pulled up over them, and John had his arm around Sherlock's shoulders, holding him close.

"It's not an atlas, but I do have a book. It's one of my favorites... Can we..."

"Please, John, will you read it to me?"

John held up the book for Sherlock to see. _The Little Prince._ "Have you read it?"

"I haven't."

"My mum used to read it to Harry and me. It was her favorite. When she died Harry took mum's copy and hid it away in her room. She wouldn't even let me..." John sniffed and shook his head. "I found this copy a few months later. The library was selling old books. I know it didn't cost much, but I was eight, so it took almost everything I had saved. And I couldn't wait for summer to come, because I wanted to share my favorite story with you... But then papa said there wasn't enough money..."

Sherlock held John a little tighter, but allowed him the peace he needed to continue. This was all Sherlock had ever wanted, for John to trust him enough to tell him the things he never told anyone else.

"I put it away after that. Had to grow up, you know? No time for fanciful kid stuff. It wasn't until uni that I read it again, and that was just because of a girl."

"Of course." Sherlock scoffed.

"I don't even remember her name. She had to read it for a French literature course. She was working on a paper. I told her I loved the book, and offered to help her with her paper. We went to her room..."

"No." Sherlock laughed. "Don't tell me..."

"Yeah. She was pretty disappointed that I actually just wanted to help her with the paper and nothing more. That night did not go well."

"No second date?"

John huffed a laugh. "No. No second date. But I did have a renewed appreciation for this book, and the memories I had associated with it. When I went home over the next holiday, I dug it out and took it back with me. This book was in my footlocker in Afghanistan. I had it when I was in hospital, and in that godawful bedsit. And now..."

"Finally." Sherlock sighed against John’s shoulder.

"Finally." John  repeated, barely whispering. He flipped to the first page and began reading.

_Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing..._

They giggled together at the silly illustrations.

As John read, Sherlock hummed and agreed that most adults tend toward tiresome and dull.

_It took me a long time to learn where he came from. The little prince, who asked me so many questions, never seemed to hear the ones I asked him. It was from words dropped by chance that, little by little, everything was revealed to me._

"Reminds me of someone..." John murmured against the top of Sherlock's head as he brushed a stray curl back from his forehead.

Sherlock looked up and rolled his eyes with a huff. "I don't believe in chance."

"Hmm." John smiled and continued reading.

_If I try to describe him here, it is to make sure that I shall not forget him. To forget a friend is sad. Not every one has had a friend. And if I forget him, I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but figures..._

Sherlock buried his face in John’s chest.

"Hey. Sherlock, no." John set the book aside and pulled Sherlock a little closer. "We've already done this. No more apologies."

Sherlock nodded and relaxed as John began to hum to him the song he'd been composing. He hadn’t realized John had been paying attention, or that he'd even been humming it himself. Remarkable, brilliant man. Perfect John. My heart.

"Hmm? Did you say something?"

"Αξιοσημείωτος. Λαμπρός άνθρωπος. Τέλειος Γιάννης. Η καρδιά μου."

"Η καρδιά μου." John whispered into Sherlock's hair. He yawned then. "Take a break from the book?"

"We don't have to move do we?"

"I don't think I could." John yawned again and settled more deeply into the cushions.

"Let me read to you for a while."

With a contented sigh, John nodded and closed his eyes. Sherlock read aloud until he was sure John was asleep, and because this was John’s favorite childhood book, he continued to read.

_'Tonight--you know... Do not come.'_

_'I shall not leave you,' I said._

_'I shall look as if I were suffering. I shall look a little as if I were dying. It is like that. Do not come to see that. It is not worth the trouble...'_

_'I shall not leave you.'_

_But he was worried._

_'I tell you--it is also because of the snake. He must not bite you. Snakes--they are malicious creatures. This one might bite you just for fun...'_

_'I shall not leave you.'_

_But a thought came to reassure him:_

_'It is true that they have no more poison for a second bite.'_

_That night I did not see him set out on his way. He got away from me without making a sound. When I succeeded in catching up with him he was walking along with a quick and resolute step. He said to me merely:_

_'Ah! You are there...'_

_And he took me by the hand. But he was still worrying._

_'It was wrong of you to come. You will suffer. I shall look as if I were dead; and that will not be true...'_

He wasn't completely aware that he'd started crying. He had no recollection of dropping the book, or moving so that he was laying more fully across John’s chest. He only truly came back to himself when he couldn't contain the sob any longer, and gentle fingers began massaging his scalp.

"Sh'lock?" John's voice was thick with sleep.

Sherlock groaned.

John blinked a few times and tried to sit up. Sherlock tightened his hold. "Okay... okay." With one hand he kept running his fingers through Sherlock's hair, and with the other he picked up the discarded book and skimmed the page.

"Oh. God. You kept reading. Sherlock. This isn't... Sherlock, look at me." John laid the book down, tucked his chin to his chest and with both hands, gently tilted Sherlock's face toward his.

"This is a story book. Just a children's story. It's not _our_ story. There are similarities, yes." John wiped away Sherlock's tears with his thumbs. "But it's not the same. Ours is unique. It's sad, and hard, terrifying in turn. But it's perfect because it's ours. And it's better too, because after you left, you came back to me."

"John, how can you..."

"No more apologies." John smiled.

Sherlock studied John’s face in awe. The sadness that always seemed to line his friend's face when the subject of Sherlock's absence came up were gone. In its place was peace. Warmth. Oh.

John loved him. Those weren't just words he'd said. John loved Sherlock.

Sherlock gasped.

John huffed a laugh. "Idiot, of course I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Little Prince](http://www.malyksiaze.net/us/ksiazka) text. You can pick the language to read it in.
> 
>  
> 
> Αξιοσημείωτος. Λαμπρός άνθρωπος. Τέλειος Γιάννης. Η καρδιά μου- Remarkable. Brilliant man . Perfect John . My heart


	31. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will make you a present of a secret.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

They had finally fallen asleep as the sun was rising, John had his fingers tangled in Sherlock's hair, and Sherlock was snoring against his chest. When the early afternoon light had finally broken through the clouds John was in the midst of a dream, he, they, were in Afghanistan - there was a young version of Sherlock standing next to his bed. He had forgotten, it was a dream he'd had after he learned he was going home, he had drifted off to sleep and there was a mini Sherlock, almost like the Little Prince, just standing there looking at him, then smiling, he said, "John. John - wake up, it's time to wake up. It's time, we are wasting time."

He opened his eyes to find Sherlock panicked, trying to wake him up. He rubbed his face and found that his face was wet, either with his tears, or Sherlock's, perhaps both, going by Sherlock's reddened and puffy eyes.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, but you were crying, and calling for me....where were you, or was it both of us?"

"Hmmm....Afghanistan in hospital before I was sent home. You were standing there, you looked like the Little Prince, from the book, except you had dark hair of course, and you were wearing your coat and scarf. I'd once had a dream of you, after I knew I was going home, you, the younger you I had known, in beach clothes was standing next to my bed, holding my hand, telling me we were wasting time."

"Bossy, even in dreams, hmmm?" Sherlock shook his head. "Tea, we need tea. Still have bread and honey..."

"Hey, are you okay?" John touched Sherlock's face and looked into the worried eyes that were trying not to meet his.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"Sherlock, no. Don't lie to me now, I can tell when you're lying, your nose crinkle gets all -"

Sherlock sighed. "I - this is going to sound impossible, at the very least improbable - but I've had dreams of you before, uhm, it was about a year before I met you the second time, I worked it out, it was about the same time you were being shipped home. They were so real, but I was - uhm... it was before I went to rehab and I was living rough. I had dreams of you, and I thought it was from the drugs, but, it was you, you were injured, sleeping, and you were younger, but then you got older - I stopped having those dreams when we met again. I had one this morning...it had been a long time..."

"Come here, I, uhm, had dreams about you too - all through rehab, on the hardest days, I'd fall asleep and be at the beach with you, I was always getting stitched up, you were always telling me not to give up, to keep going, it was going to be okay."

Sherlock nodded. "Yeah. Me too. I was always stuck in the rock, you were helping me out, over and over again -"

John held him in his arms and they were quiet for a long time; through the window they watched the sky change, the clouds darken and the rain begin to fall, at first it was misting, light, gentle rain, then the winds swirled torrents against the cottage, and the one lamp they had fizzled out.

"Let me get the candles, I saw them in the closet."

"I'll let you in on a secret," Sherlock whispered. "I've never liked storms."

"Me either, come with me." John smiled gently and offered Sherlock his hand; he took it gratefully and they went in search of candles and matches.


	32. Facing the Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

The candles, to Sherlock's great relief, were beeswax and not those dreadfully scented monstrosities, like the ones Mrs. Hudson had around her flat.

The afternoon sky was as dark as midnight as the storm continued to buffet the cottage. Inside had grown just as dark, save for the few embers glowing in the fireplace. Sherlock was ready to light the entire supply of eight candles right away, but John stilled his hand.

"Let's build the fire up first, and see how much light we need after that, okay?"John took the candles from Sherlock and squeezed his hand. "No telling how long the power will be out, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded. "Smart. Very λογικός -- _sensible._ "

"Λογικός" John repeated as he crouched by the fireplace. He couldn't help but smile when Sherlock knelt beside him. Having confessed an aversion to storms, John wasn't going to complain about the nearness. And perhaps a bit of vocabulary review might be a good distraction.

Catching on to John’s idea, Sherlock hummed his approval. "Λο _γι_ κός."

"Λο _γι_ κός." John was careful to be precise as he emulated Sherlock's enunciation. His efforts earned him a genuine smile of approval, complete with the tiny, endearing crinkles around Sherlock's eyes... the ones he would deny vehemently if John ever mentioned them. He cast an assessing glance around the room then. It really was dark enough to warrant a few candles being lit.

Sherlock watched with rapt attention as a look of quiet determination settled on John's face. That look meant Sherlock was about to see John take charge of this situation, and apply his own brand of problem solving genius. He needed no reminders that his friend was brilliant. While Sherlock could look at a man and tell you why the man was bleeding, how long he'd been bleeding, what had cause the wound, and the motive behind it,  John could step in and simply make the man stop bleeding so that he'd live long enough to tell you all those things on his own. John was vital, and it was possible he wasn't aware. That could be easily righted.

Sherlock waited in expectation to see what John would do next.

"...Hey. Sherlock? Where'd you go?" John laughed. Sherlock hadn’t realized John had moved from his side and was examining a mirror hanging on the wall.

"Sorry..."

"I just asked if you can help me move this mirror. I want to sit it on this bookshelf."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and grinned. Yes. His John was a genius. He stood and helped John lift down the mirror.

"Hand me two candles, would you?" John busied himself with rearranging the knickknacks on the top shelf.

Placing the candles firmly in John's hand, Sherlock carefully pronounced "Κερί."

With a nod John repeated. "Κερί."

"Good. Αναπτήρας" Sherlock handed him the lighter from the fireplace.

"Αναπτήρας." John lit the candles, and with the mirror reflecting their light, the room was filled with a cozy warm glow.

"Αγωγός του φωτός" Sherlock whispered.

Confused, John repeated, "Αγωγός του φωτός?"

With a smile, Sherlock took John's hand. "Conductor of light. Αγωγός του φωτός."

"Oh god." John gigglesnorted. "I'm not repeating that again. Idiot."

"Idiot. Ηλίθιος." Sherlock winked.

"Ah. Now we're getting to the practical stuff. Ηλίθιος." John grinned up at him. "C'mon, let's find something to eat. Ηλίθιος."

"I'm going to regret that." Sherlock laughed. "We've still got some of Ioanna's bread... Ψωμί..."

"Ψωμί." John repeated dutifully as he lit a candle on the table.

"As well as honey... μέλι..."

"Μέλι."

"...and preserves... κομπόστες..."

"Κομπόστες." John began digging through a low cupboard. "Bring the light a little closer."

"What are you doing?"

"Ah!" John emerged triumphantly with a wire baking rack. "Making lunch!" John filled the kettle, then took it and the baking rack to the fireplace. Sherlock watched in delight as John managed to get the rack into the fireplace enough that the kettle was sitting over some very hot embers.

"Brilliant. Λαμπρός."

John rolled his eyes. "Basic water boiling is most assuredly not brilliant."

Taking John's hand to pull him up, Sherlock repeated, "Λαμπρός."

With a resigned sigh, John repeated, "Λαμπρός. Ηλίθιος." He led Sherlock back to the kitchen and grabbed his knapsack on the way. "I got a few supplies while you were with Alex yesterday. I think I can make something out of them."

From the knapsack John produced a small bottle of herb infused olive oil, a packet of sun dried figs, and a jar of the cured olives Sherlock had requested.

"You think you can make something out of these?" Sherlock eyed the ingredients suspiciously. "Why don't we just eat them?"

"Are you telling me Sherlock Holmes doesn't want to try an experiment?" John's smile was a bit devious.

"Noooo..."

"Don't you trust me? I think I should be hurt right now," John feigned his best Sherlockian pout.

" _Fine._ Just save some of the olives so I'll have something to eat when whatever you're making is ruined." Sherlock shook his head and opened the jar of olives. He inhaled deeply and sighed. "Olives... Ελιές."

"Ελιές," John took the jar away before Sherlock could eat them all. "If you're going to be in the kitchen, you get to help. Slice up the rest of the bread."

Pouting in earnest, Sherlock sliced the bread as he watched John work. First, John diced up half the figs into tiny bits, and scooped them into a small saucepan. He added some of the olive oil and some sea salt he found on a shelf, then put the whole thing on the wire rack over the fire.

When he returned to the kitchen, John picked up a fig and took a bite. He closed his eyes in appreciation and savored it a moment before holding it up for Sherlock to try.

"Σύκο."

"Σύκο," John repeated and then popped it into Sherlock's mouth.

"Mmmmm."

"How do you say that in Greek?" John laughed.

"That one is universal I think."

They both jumped when a particularly forceful gust of wind rattled the windows and was followed up by a loud clap of thunder.

"Bloody hell, I actually forgot it was storming..." John turned to look out the kitchen window. "It still looks pretty bad out there."

"It's easier with you." Sherlock had moved unnoticed to John's side. John looked up at him, puzzled. "Forgetting the storm... Καταιγίδα..."

"Καταιγίδα" John whispered.

"...Life. Everything. It's all easier with you." Sherlock shrugged and John caught him in an embrace before he could turn away.

"And with you. You sentimental git."

Sherlock returned to his chair. "Now what, Master Chef Watson?"

"You mock, but you'll see." John slid the bottle of olive oil across the table. "Drizzle some of that on both sides of the bread."

Examining the bottle, Sherlock tasted a drop of the oil and frowned.

" _Trust_ me." John laughed.

With an exasperated sigh, Sherlock acquiesced. He held up the bottle. "Ελαιόλαδο."

"Ελαιόλαδο" John repeated as he pulled out a tray and a few small bowls. He put the remaining figs into a bowl, and then drizzled honey over them. Then diced up half the olives. Sherlock watched him warily.

"Fine!" John pulled an olive from the jar and shoved it into Sherlock’s mouth with a giggle.

"Mmmmm."

John shook his head and finished dicing the olives. He dumped the rest into a bowl and set it on the tray next to the figs. He scooped the diced olives into a bowl and added a little bit of honey.

" _What_ are you doing?" Sherlock turned up his nose as John retrieved the saucepan from the fire and added the heated figs to the olives. "This is not an experiment, this," he motioned to the concoction John was mashing with a fork, "is an abomination... Αηδεία."

"Αηδεία," John repeated dramatically. "We'll see." He turned to put the saucepan and the olive jar in the sink just as gust of wind caused one of the shutters to slam into the side of the house. John dropped the jar and it shattered in the sink. "Aw, damn."

"Ανάθεμα!" Sherlock declared with a laugh.

"Ανάθεμα!" John shook his head as he dropped the shards into the saucepan. "Now you're speaking my language. Ανάθεμα." He missed the piece of glass that was wedged in the drain cover, and it tore a jagged cut along the side of his right hand. "Shit," he hissed.

"Σκατά!"

"No, Sherlock, get the first aid kit out of my bag. Σκατά that hurt." John started gently washing his hands and then pressed a tea towel to his cut.

Sherlock scrambled around the table to retrieve the kit and stood pressed against John’s side. "Is it bad? Do you need stitches. Oh god, we don't have a way to call for help."

"It's not that bad, just..." John winced when he pulled the towel away. "Just need to wrap it." He smiled at the concern etched on Sherlock's face. "Really, Sherlock, it's fine. If you'll grab some mugs and the tea, and load everything on the tray, we can take care of it in front of the fire where there's more light."

With a quick nod Sherlock gathered the tea things and bread onto the tray with everything else and headed to the main room. John blew out the candle on the table and followed right behind.

"Before we do this, pour the water so the tea can steep, and put the bread slices on the rack." John checked his cut. The bleeding had mostly stopped.

Sherlock followed John’s instructions, but cast worried glances over his shoulder as he worked.

"It's not even bleeding anymore. Otherwise, we'd be taking care of this first. I'm okay, Sherlock," John attempted to reassure his friend.

With the tea steeping and the bread toasting, John let Sherlock take over. He was moved nearer the fire where the light was best, and Sherlock took his time examining the cut.

"It's not very deep. But it's jagged. Probably going to scar." Sherlock looked up from John's hand with an unreadable expression.

"Wouldn't be a proper holiday at the beach with you if I didn't come away with a scar." John laughed, and Sherlock cracked a small smile despite himself.

"I don't like that you'll have another scar."

"It was just an accident," John shrugged. "These things happen. The bread needs to be turned now."

Sherlock gingerly laid John’s hand down, and turned the bread over. John dug an antiseptic wipe and some antibiotic cream from his kit.

"Please, let me?"

John smiled and nodded. Sherlock took his time, inspecting the cut again, cleaning it carefully, and then applying the cream.

"Would you pull the toast off the fire now? And the tea should be done steeping." John found a gauze wrap and some tape while Sherlock took care of the tea and toast.

"It's big enough, this'll be easier to use than plasters. Just wrap it around a few times. Not too tight."

"I have done this before, _doctor._ " Sherlock smiled smugly. "Γιατρός."

"Γιατρός." John giggled. "Yes, thank you, nurse." He looked at Sherlock expectantly.

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock pronounced, "Νοσοκόμος."

"Νοσοκόμος."

"But that's _consulting detective_ to you." Sherlock taped off the gauze and  checked his work.

"Say it in Greek?"

"Hmm. It doesn't translate, since I'm the only one and I'm English. There's no need."

"Liar!" John laughed and swatted at him with his bandaged hand.

Huffing a laugh, Sherlock caught John's injured hand and held it tenderly. "Careful." He looked at John thoughtfully for a moment. "I suppose συμβουλευτικός ερευνητής would be close."

"Συμβουλευτικός ερευνητής." John tried the phrase out. "Συμβουλευτικός ερευνητής."

"And you're also a στρατιώτης -- soldier."

John shook his head. "Στρατιώτης. _Used_ to be."

Sherlock frowned at that. He added a little honey to one mug of tea and handed it to John. He added a substantial amount more to his own mug, which made John laugh.

"You're still brave like a soldier... Γενναίος..."

"Γενναίος," John whispered and sipped his tea.

"...and strong... Ισχυρός..."

"Sherlock..."

_"Ισχυρός."_

"Ισχυρός."

"...and smart like a soldier... Έξυπνος."

John sighed. "Έξυπνος."

Sherlock chuckled at John’s exasperation and the fact that he was blushing. He took John's injured hand and placed it over his own heart. "Ο ιστορικός μου. Ο συνεργάτης μου. Ο καλύτερός μου φίλος. Η καρδιά μου."

"Sherlock?" Even without a translation, he recognized some of the words. John sat up on his knees.

"My historian. My partner. My best friend..."

"Η καρδιά μου. My heart."

Sherlock nodded. His eyes were glistening. "You are as vital to the work, to me, as my own mind. Invaluable."

"Sherlock..." John wiped at his own eyes. "I don't know what... Wait, you aren't trying to get out of eating my tapenade are you?"

"What? No... That's not..." Sherlock scrambled to regain the conversation when John laughed.

"I know, Sherlock. I know. I'm teasing. I love you too, ηλίθιε. Η καρδιά μου."

Sherlock huffed. "That... stuff... has a name?"

"Well, it's a variation of a tapenade. Normally it's made with olives, currents and anchovies, but this is what I had available." John reached for the tray and spread some of his creation onto a piece of toast. He took the first bite and chewed slowly. "Hmm. Not bad..." He held it out to Sherlock.

"Never make this at home. I don't eat anchovies." Sherlock sniffed, then closed his eyes and took a tiny bite. His eyes opened in surprise as he took another larger bite. "It's sweet... Γλυκό..."

"Γλυκό." John grinned.

"...and savory... αλμυρό..."

"Αλμυρό." John laughed.

"...with just enough salt... αλάτι..."

"Αλάτι. C'mon Sherlock! Do you like it?"

Sherlock took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully. He hummed in contemplation. "It's edible."

John punched his shoulder with his good hand. "How do you say arse in Greek?"

"Γάιδαρος." Sherlock laughed. "It's very good, John. I was wrong to doubt you. Might I suggest one thing..." He spread a thin layer of the preserves over the whole thing and took a bite. "Mmmmm." He fed the last bite to John.

"Oh my god. That is, let's see if I can get this right... Mmmmm."

Sherlock nearly choked on his tea. "Very good, John. You've got that one down." He spread some preserves on a slice of toast and then added a liberal scoop of the tapenade. " _This_ you can make at home."

John popped an olive in his mouth and glanced out the window. "The sun's trying to come out." He scooted over to sit next to Sherlock. "You were right."

"Hmmm?" Sherlock said around mouthful.

"Storms are easier together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a [LINK](https://elanaspantry.com/fig-tapenade/) to a fig and olive tapenade (no anchovies!) similar to what John made up.


	33. Ephemeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes, there is no harm in putting off a piece of work until another day.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

They watched as the clouds began to clear, the skies brightened, and they had to blink against the sunlight that entered the cottage. John pushed the last bite of tapenade on a crust of bread into Sherlock's mouth and grinned as all his friend could say was, "mmmmmm..."

"The storms never last for long, unless they seem to last forever, " John said quietly as he began to clean up the table.

Sherlock stopped him. "Let's go outside, feel the wet sand squish between our toes."

"But, we should check the fuses, wash up..."

"Let's blow out the candles, put on our bathing trunks and look for shells, please, John." Sherlock gave him the look John remembered from long ago, one more time, one more minute, one more story. He could never say no to him. He put down the dishes, and grinned at him, and Sherlock smiled that rare but beautiful smile he had for John's eyes only. It took his breath away.

They changed into their swim trunks, that had dried near the fire, on the tile floor. They didn't bother with shirts, no matter how cool it was outside and ran out to breathe in the rain changed scenery. Their beach was covered in shells, seaweed and a multitude of sea urchins.

"John -" Sherlock whispered to him, and grabbed his hand.

"I know -"

"I don't ever want to leave."

"We will come back."

"Promise?"

John took him into his arms and whispered, "next winter, we will take a month, no, two months. I couldn't keep my promise when I was young, but I can do it now. In fact, I have some money saved, what do you say to seeing if we can buy this cottage? Or at least make sure no one lives here in the winter months except for us for the next thirty or forty years?"

Sherlock squeezed him back and after a moment sighed. "Do you mean it, John? You want -"

"Of course I mean it, I loathe London in winter. And I don't want all my Greek lessons to go to waste."

"Git."

"Γάιδαρε."

"Oh, very nice, καρδιά μου."

"Come on, there may be clams or mussels..."

"You'll never get me to eat those things-"

"Wanna bet?" John's eyes twinkled and Sherlock could only sigh and shake his head as John ran inside in search of a bowl or a bucket, to collect their treasures.


	34. Poetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It is rather poetic. But it is of no great consequence."_ ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

John found himself tearing through every closet, cabinet and cupboard in the cottage in his search for a bucket, or pail, or anything really. He found a torch with working batteries early, and rolled his eyes, because they certainly could have used that earlier. But it was definitely of assistance as he finally found a large metal mixing bowl and an impressive stock pot in the back of a low cupboard.

"Λαμπρά!" He declared to himself and laughed. Sherlock's enthusiasm was contagious. He decided they'd use the bowl for seashells and other treasures, and the pot for the live things, obviously. But they'd need to invest in some proper buckets for next winter when...

"Oh god."

John paused in the doorway and leaned against the frame. "I just promised to buy Sherlock a beach house," he mumbled to himself. He was grinning like an idiot, and he knew it.

He was fairly certain no one at home would believe that, let alone understand it. And he didn't even want to think about the explaining they'd have to do. Another _oh god_ died in his throat as he looked up and caught a glimpse of Sherlock on the beach.

All long limbs, sharp angles, and windswept curls, Sherlock's movements exemplified grace as he seemed to dance to and fro between the waves and the sand. It took him a moment, but John finally realized what Sherlock was doing.

Sherlock was moving sea urchins from the beach to the sea.

John's heart didn't have a chance. The way the golden rays of the late afternoon sun played in the raven curls, and the way Sherlock was talking, too low to be heard, and laughing to himself. It was all so familiar, and John saw his friend, his best friend, and would have wept at the poetic beauty of this second chance they'd been given, but for Sherlock dropping to his knees and calling out to him.

"John! Oh, John, come and see! Hurry!"

With no hint of urgency in Sherlock's tone, only simple joy and childlike wonder, John found himself in no real rush. He took his time, inhaling deeply the moist salt air, letting the wet sand pack between his toes, and watching his friend.

He'd been doing a lot of watching. John watched as Sherlock, still on his knees, bent over to look at whatever he had found. It was a familiar posture. It reminded John of Sherlock leaning over the microscope in the lab at Bart's that fateful day with Mike... And the day, so long ago, when Sherlock had examined the bugs swarming the rock on which John had cut his foot.

John watched deft musician's fingers prodding with careful calculated movements. He watched those same experienced fingers clap in gleeful, boyish abandon, and a moment later they were beckoning him nearer.

Sherlock's face morphed from wonder to excitement at John’s approach -- there was a smudge of sand across his jaw, a barely noticeable remnant of preserves in the corner of his mouth, and just a very few new freckles scattered high across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

John thought the sea, normally brilliant blue, but swirling with frothy silvers and greens after being stirred up by the storm,  magnificent though it was, could not compare with his companion's eyes.

"Ιππόκαμπος, John! Look!"

"Ιππόκαμπος?"

"It's an hippocampus!"

Setting the bowl and pot aside, John leaned to look over Sherlock's shoulder. Caught in a water filled divot in the sand was the tiny brown seahorse. "Wow," John breathed. "Never seen one up close."

Looking up over his shoulder, Sherlock's eyes shone. "Isn't he brilliant?"

"Λαμπρός." John nodded and laughed at Sherlock's grin.

Sherlock leaned back down to continue his observations. "Look at the way his body flexes and moves. Did you know they travel in pairs, and..."

John was amazed by the sheer volume of knowledge Sherlock had stored away on the tiny ιππόκαμπος. He loved watching Sherlock this way, this meeting of the unparalleled mind and unaffected spirit of a child. He moved to kneel beside his friend, but froze when he caught sight of silver scars criss-crossing sun pinked skin -- the evidence of Sherlock's time away.

Swallowing back a gasp at the stark reminder, John blinked rapidly for moment before gingerly tracing a line across Sherlock's shoulder blade.

"...John?..." Sherlock whispered. His back tensed reflexively.

"Sorry... sorry. I just..." John knelt then, but continued to run his finger along the scar. Sherlock relaxed into John's touch, and neither said anything until he'd completed his examination.

"John," Sherlock turned to face him and ducked his head so he could look him in the eyes. "Tell me?"

"I forget sometimes. There are days, times... like today, even after I wake from a dream, when everything is perfect, and I forget. I forget about Afghanistan. I forget that you were gone, that you're marked by..." John inhaled deeply. "I forget, and then it surprises me when I remember."

"Isn't that... It's good, right? This week especially... I don't want to remember, I don't want to think about that time. Or that you could have..." Sherlock placed his hand over the scar on John's shoulder.

"But we both have these... reminders." John placed his hand over Sherlock's on his scar. "And they're permanent. But I -- I just thought perhaps that it's okay to remember. Now. Now that some time has passed, and we're _this_." John squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"John, there are still some things I don't want to... I don't know if I will ever be able to talk about." Sherlock tried to pull his hand away, but John held it in both of his.

"It's fine. It's okay not to talk about it. Remembering doesn't have to mean talking about it. But some day, if you want to, _it's okay._ " John pulled Sherlock's hand back up to his own scar.

"It just seems," John paused to consider his words. Sherlock flexed his fingers against the scar. "These places, these permanent reminders, the places we were torn apart... Brought us together. Somehow. Made room for each other... I'm just rambling, I'm sorry. None of this probably makes any sense."

"When you were shot, you returned to London, and you found me again. When I was... tortured..." Sherlock took a calming breath. "That was at the end, Mycroft got me out after that. And I came home to you. Even the scar on your foot, that bound us together. And together it's safe to remember. I do understand."

"It's sentiment." John shrugged.

"It's poetic." Sherlock's smile was beatific. "Is it okay..." John nodded, and they were wrapped in a tight embrace. "Η καρδιά μου."

"Η καρδιά μου." John whispered in response. They clung to each other, remembering silently, John’s fingers tracing long lines and Sherlock’s palm resting tenderly on the gnarled skin of an exit wound.

"Should we try to return your ιππόκαμπος friend to the sea, so he can find his other half?" John asked when he leaned back from the hug. "We can use the bowl, scoop up the water too."

"You were actually listening, very good John." Sherlock winked and turned quickly to examine the seahorse. "Yes, we should try. And his name is Γιάννης."

"Γιάννης?"

"Named for someone who is strong _and_ beautiful, who doesn't conform to the dull standards of others, but is fiercely loyal -- a survivor." Sherlock filled the bowl with water, and carefully scooped Γιάννης up with his cupped hands.

"There you go being sentimental again." John laughed, but a blush colored his ears and cheeks.

"Oh... you thought I was talking about you? Uhm, this is awkward." Sherlock ducked John's attempted tackle.

"Ηλίθιε! I didn't want a seahorse named after me any way." John managed to bump Sherlock's shoulder with his own. "So, how do you pronounce your name..."

"This one really is hard to translate, but Σέρλοκ is fairly close."

"Σέρλοκ." John nodded as he repeated. They walked out waist deep into the water before Sherlock tipped the bowl gently into the sea.

"Go on Γιάννη. Go find your Σέρλοκ." They shared a sidelong glance and giggled.

"Okay, let's go find some shells. And a few clams to cook up." John grinned and hurried ahead of Sherlock.

"I told you. I'm not eating those disgusting things!"

"We'll see."


	35. Lessons learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am responsible for my rose..."  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

John flopped down onto the sand, pulling Sherlock next to him. He propped himself up and watched the surf for a time.

"Do you remember when I taught you how to swim?" He murmured, almost to himself.

Sherlock rolled over and followed John's eyes. "I remember watching you run into the water, I thought you were so brave. It was the first time I thought I had lost you when I saw you disappear under the wave. Then you turned back, expecting me to be right behind you, or next to you..."

"You looked so small, standing on the sand, so alone. I turned back, swam back to the shore, then knelt next to you."

"You said, 'you don't know how to swim, do you?' And I shook my head."

"I wanted to hug you or something, I didn't know how to make you feel better, then I looked down and saw a tiny coquina shell, it was blue, the shade of your eyes as they are right now. I picked it up and tapped your fist, you uncurled your hand, but didn't look down until you felt something in the palm of your hand."

"That shell is in a box in my room at Baker Street." Sherlock whispered.

John's jaw dropped. 

"I spent that Fall researching coquina, wanted to tell you everything I had learned about them, when I went back the next summer, I sat outside drawing them, waiting for you to come -"

John looked down, not able to meet Sherlock's eyes, he couldn't - "Look, Sherlock -" John smiled as the water washed over their feet, thousands of coquina flowed with it. Sherlock blinked and shook his head in disbelief.

"Dinner." Sherlock smiled back. "But not until tomorrow, they have to soak for twenty-hours, we have to keep them in water, keep them alive - change it a couple of times, so they open..."

"How -"

"Research, for science, naturally. You don't want to know how much about coquina I've had to delete over the years."

John rolled his eyes.

"Get the pot, we only want to keep the bigger ones, we'll throw the small ones and the empty and broken shells back." John grinned and retrieved the heavy pasta pot.

They sat for an hour or two collecting them, wondering at the tiny butterflies, all different colours, shades of the sunrise, each one a masterpiece. Sherlock picked one out of his hand, it was empty, a perfect shade of pale blue; he placed it in John's hand and closed his fingers around it.

"I never thanked you for teaching me how to swim." He whispered.

John shook his head. "I only taught you how to float on your back and how to not be afraid -"

"That is so much more than anyone else had ever given me before; you have always given me so much, John, so much more than I deserve."

John opened his hand and examined the shell. "You gave me your trust and your friendship that summer. You let me hold you up in the ocean until you were ready to try, but you still held on to my hand, you knew I wouldn't let anything happen to you. You were the first person who believed in me like that."

They sat together in silence as the sun began to set, hot pinks and purples softened to pale yellow; John held on to his gift, while Sherlock held onto his other hand, as he had so many years ago. They breathed together as the moon rose, and the first stars came out.

"We need to take these inside," Sherlock whispered, "and then we need to feed you."

"Feed us, you mean."

They laughed as their stomachs growled in unison, and Sherlock grinned. "Us, yes, of course, that's what I meant." He grabbed the pot and hefted it to his shoulder, as John watched in amazement. "I've always been stronger than I look."

"I know." John shook his head in wonder. "I know you are, you always have been."


	36. Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"One must require from each one the duty which each one can perform..."_ \--Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a mystery...
> 
> There's a lot of Greek in this one. Glossary at the end. 
> 
> AND, when you're done here, if you haven't seen it already, go check out the gorgeous artwork we were given permission to add to [chapter 20](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7258249/chapters/16713490)

A quick review of their provisions by candle light revealed they were woefully unprepared. "Bottled water, two pots of honey, I swear we had three," John cast a bemused look at Sherlock, "three pots of fig preserves, and four olives from earlier..."

"Uhm... no olives." Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and smiled innocently.

"Γάιδαρε." John laughed."Well, you might be able to survive off four olives and eating preserves and honey with a spoon straight from the jar, but I can't. I guess we're walking to town."

"It's possible the electricity is out for the whole island."

"A risk we'll have to take. It's not like we can call Andreas and ask." John shrugged as he headed to the loo. "You got the olives, so I get first shower."

They hurried through bathing and dressing in the dark. John fussed with the fuse box while Sherlock fussed with his curls, and both were given up as a lost cause. John shoved the first aid kit, a few bottles of water, a candle and lighter wrapped in a tea towel, and the towels they'd taken on their walk into his knapsack. He looked up to see Sherlock watching him intently.

"We've no idea how the rest of the island fared. I just..." He blushed, ducked his head, and mumbled, "Old habits."

Sherlock stepped up to John, and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "I trust your instincts, John. Never apologize for being you. I would expect nothing less. Γιατρός και στρατιώτης." He went to dig through his own luggage then, and returned with another smaller first aid kit, a small sewing kit, and a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. Sherlock handed them to John with a shrug. "Just in case."

John nodded. "Thank you, Sherlock." He slung the pack over his shoulders, took the torch in one hand and Sherlock's hand in the other. "Let's go get dinner."

They walked to town hand-in-hand and mostly in silence, occasionally pointing out constellations or newly fallen trees. There were several places along the road where debris hadn't been cleared away. They could see torch light and camp lantern lights bobbing ahead of them the nearer they drew to the village.

"Well that answers that question," John murmured as they watched a group of people scurrying around and calling out in panic. "Can you tell what's going on?"

Sherlock frowned. "They're looking for someone, I can't..." Someone crashed into him, nearly toppling them both. "Alex? Alex, what's wrong?"

Alex peered up at him with red puffy eyes and quivering chin. "Niko!" He buried his face in Sherlock's shirt and held fast to him.

"Who is..." John was already crouching to be at Alex's level when Andreas, Alex's papa, and a woman with tear stained cheeks came running. He stood to greet them.

"Sherlock, John, it is good you have come. Νικόλαος... uhm, Nikolaus, is missing. Perhaps you have seen him?" Andreas explained.

"Νικόλαος is..." Sherlock's brow furrowed as he studied the woman's face.

"Ο φίλος μου. Ο Νίκος μου." Alex cried into Sherlock's shirt. "My friend!"

"Παρακαλώ. _Please,_ Mr. Holmes. Can you find my Νικόλαος?" The stricken woman stepped boldly up and clasped one of Sherlock's hands in hers.

They exchanged a look and John patted Sherlock's back. "Looks like you're on, συμβουλευτικές ερευνητή."

Sherlock nodded once and John watched with a lopsided smile as his friend's expression shifted to deduction mode.

"Νικό and my Αλέξανδρος were at our σπίτι. Νικό left before the καταιγίδα to go find..." Alex's papa motioned to Niko's mother. Alex clung to him more tightly.

"Alex..." Placing his hands on the boy's shoulders, Sherlock gently pushed him away and knelt down to look him in the eyes. "Alex, where did Niko go?" Alex shook his head and diverted his eyes.

"Mr. Holmes, he doesn't know." Alex's papa took a step nearer.

Sherlock cleared his throat. His tone was stern. "Αλέξανδρε. Κοίτα με σε παρακαλώ. Που πήγε?"

Alex shook his head again.

John placed his hand gently on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock glanced up at him and nodded. "Alex, I always know where ο φίλος μου, ο Γιάννης μου goes. We go together. Why didn't you go with Νικό?"

Alex hiccoughed and sniffed. "In the storm I was φοβισμένος... too afraid. Νικό is γενναίος. He wanted me to stay... Είπε ότι θα είναι γρήγορο." The boy started to tear up again.

"And where did he have to go?"

"Συγγνώμη." Alex looked back at his papa. "We have a γάτα... cat... she has γατάκια... uhm, little cats? Νικό went to see..."

"Where, Alex?"

"Το the uhm... μεγάλο άδειο σπίτι." Alex pointed down the road. Niko's mother gasped. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, then took off running. John and Alex's papa were close behind.

Sherlock took Alex's hand, and started after the others when Andreas stopped him and handed him a lantern. "Many thanks, νεαρέ φίλε μου. Ioanna will have dinner for you when you return, yes?"

With a nod of thanks, Sherlock and Alex hurried down the road.

"Is Νικό going to be σε μπελάδες... in trouble? It was my idea to go. Θα πρέπει να τιμωρηθώ. Not him." Alex sniffed again.

"You may both be punished."

Alex looked heartbroken. "Ήταν μια ηλίθια ιδέα!"

"Sometimes there are consequences, ah... συνέπειες... Even if we mean well, things sometimes go wrong." Sherlock squeezed Alex's hand. "Even my John and I make mistakes, or have stupid ideas. And we must face the συνέπειες."

"But... you are διάσημος!"

"Famous does not mean I can break the rules." They walked up to John, who huffed a small laugh and rolled his eyes at his friend. "Is he here?"

"There's a building out back that was unlocked, Alex's papa is looking there. Niko's mum is checking the back to see if the house is open, but I think..." John flashed his torch at a gap in some boards at the bottom of the porch. There was a bit of bright yellow snagged there.

"Niko," Alex whispered and tried to run to it. Sherlock pulled him back. Alex glared up at him. "Ο φίλος μου! Νικό μου! You know!"

"I should probably..."

"No," John shrugged off the rucksack and handed it to Sherlock. "I should. I think you're needed here." He nodded to Alex, then stepped closer to whisper. "It's been hours. If he's sick or injured..."

"Γιατρός και στρατιώτης." Sherlock smiled warmly at his friend.

John made quick work of pulling a few more loose boards away and crawling into the cramped space. He had to army crawl, but kept up a running commentary about the mud, and spiders, and how he hadn't had to move like this for years. When he had the run-in with the rusty nail, he remembered the curses in Greek Sherlock taught him, and declared his adoration for the tetanus booster.

"John, when you swear in Greek, children who speak Greek can understand you," Sherlock scolded him from the other side of the planks.

"Damn."

Alex thought this doctor, Sherlock's John, was quite humorous, and giggled despite his concern for his friend. Sherlock knew the commentary was for his own benefit, reassurance that John was in a good state of mind, and that he hadn't found anything horrendous.

But when John suddenly got quiet, Sherlock waved over Niko's mother and gave her charge over Alex. The boy grunted in complaint, but watched wide eyed as Sherlock knelt beside the porch.

"John?"

"He's just asleep, Sherlock. Oh thank god. He's just sleeping. A pretty bad gash on his arm, and a bump on his head. I'm going to wake him, he may be concussed. Someone should..."

"We've gained an audience, John. The doctor is here to help get Niko back to town."

"Good. Okay..." John eased Niko awake. "Niko? Νικόλαος, my name is John... Γιάννης. Everyone has been very worried about you."

"Πονάει το κεφάλι μου."

"He said his head hurts," Sherlock kept his voice low.

"He's got a mild concussion. Can you pull some of those boards away?" John turned his attention back to Niko. "Niko, does your neck or back hurt at all?" Sherlock explained in Greek. The boy shook his head and winced.

"Just..." Niko reached up and touched the knot on his head. "And my arm."

"I am sorry that hurts. Your arm will need stitches. But we're going to make sure you're taken very good care of." John waited for Sherlock to interpret.

"Our γάτα... and γατάκια..." Niko motioned to the bundle he'd been curled around. Under a dirty tea towel was a cat and her kittens. 

"We will help your kittens... γατάκια... too, Niko. You were very γενναίος to come help them during the καταιγίδα."

"Δεν μου αρέσουν οι καταιγίδες πάρα πολύ"

"He doesn't like storms very much," Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

"Can I tell you a secret? Neither do I." John chuckled at Niko's wide eyes when Sherlock interpreted.

"Είμαι σε μπελάδες?"

"He wants to know if he's in trouble," Sherlock chuckled.

"You might be. Later. Right now your mum is worried, and the doctor wants to help you. Everyone is just glad we found you." John smiled, and Niko nodded as Sherlock explained.

"Do you think you can crawl out of here? Alex is waiting for you."

Niko's eyes lit up when he heard his friend's name. "Ναι μπορώ να το κάνω." John helped him to the opening Sherlock made. Just before he let Sherlock help him through, he turned and hugged John tight. "Ευχαριστώ. Δεν πίστευα ότι κάποιος θα με εύρισκε."

John caught the glimmer in Sherlock's eyes as his friend blinked rapidly. "He... uhm, he said thank you, and that he didn't think anyone would find him." John grinned at his friend and returned the hug.

Together they maneuvered Niko from under the porch and into his mother's arms. Then Sherlock pulled John out and to his feet. John stood and stumbled against Sherlock’s chest.

Guiding John to sit on the edge of the porch, Sherlock handed him a bottle of water. "You're filthy."

"And exhausted." John rolled his shoulders. "Haven't used some of those muscles for a few years." He used the water to rinse some of the dirt from his hands and arms, then splashed his face. His stomach rumbled. "Oi. This is hopeless, and I'm starving."

"C'mon. Up you get." Sherlock pulled John to his feet and put his arm around him. "Ioanna has dinner waiting. I think we earned our keep tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> γάιδαρος -- arse
> 
> Γιατρός και στρατιώτης -- doctor and soldier 
> 
> Ο φίλος μου. Ο Νίκος μου -- my friend. my Niko
> 
> συμβουλευτικές ερευνητή -- consulting detective 
> 
> σπίτι -- home
> 
> καταιγίδα -- storm
> 
> Αλέξανδρε. Κοίτα με σε παρακαλώ. Που πήγε? -- Alexandros. Look at me please. Where did he go?
> 
> ο φίλος μου, ο Γιάννης μου -- my friend. my John
> 
> φοβισμένος -- afraid 
> 
> γενναίος -- brave
> 
> Είπε ότι θα είναι γρήγορο -- He said he would be fast
> 
> Συγγνώμη -- I'm sorry
> 
> μεγάλο άδειο σπίτι -- big empty house
> 
> νεαρέ φίλε μου -- my young friend
> 
> Θα πρέπει να τιμωρηθώ -- I should be punished
> 
> Ήταν μια ηλίθια ιδέα -- it was a stupid idea
> 
> διάσημος -- famous
> 
> Ναι μπορώ να το κάνω -- I can do it


	37. Recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I shall not leave you.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Sherlock led John slowly back to Andreas' home, encouraging him to lean hard against him. Sherlock knew the nightmares would come, but tonight, John would not be alone. John sighed and held tighter to his friend's hand as if he could hear Sherlock's thoughts; perhaps, mused Sherlock, perhaps he could. 

Ioanna hugged and kissed them both, but recognised the hunger and exhaustion and pushed them to a table filled with food; the stuffed grape leaves that she knew John had a fondness for, and another overflowing bowl of cherries, for Sherlock. There was warm bread and honey, and above all, quiet; there would be a celebration tomorrow where the village would invite them to become part of their family, but tonight, they understood and appreciated their need for peace.

All but Alex had returned to their homes. He poked his head around the corner, ashamed and still shaken by the storm. Sherlock spotted him and beckoned to him. "Έλα εδώ, δεν πρέπει να φοβόμαστε."

Alex hesitated then saw John smile at him. He ran to his side and knelt down."Σας ευχαριστώ για τη βοήθεια του φίλου μου, ο καλύτερος φίλος μου σε όλο τον κόσμο. Θα είναι πάντα ο ήρωάς μου, ο ήρωάς μας, ο γιατρός μας."

"Slow down, Alex -" John shook his head and helped him into a seat at the table. "You must be hungry, yes?"

Sherlock spoke slowly, translating Alex's words: "Thank you for helping my friend...my best friend...in all the world. You will always be my hero, our hero, our doctor."

John drizzled a bit of honey on a thick piece of bread, and handed it to Alex. "When we were small, I once had to rescue my - you would call him η καρδιά μου, we were exploring, and he got stuck, trapped - 

"παγιδευμένος." Sherlock offered.

"παγιδευμένος, όντως? Really?" Alex whispered.

Sherlock nodded. "He said, 'Δεν θα σας αφήσει' "

John murmured, "I shall not leave you. Δεν θα σας αφήσει, Δεν θα σας αφήσει. You remembered that."

Sherlock covered John's hand with his and gazed into his friend's eyes. "Like it was yesterday."

Alex watched in amazement, he had never seen his own parents show such open love for each other. He knew from that moment that he must never again be afraid, he must always stand by Ο καλύτερος φίλος του, την καρδιά του. He understood that the friendship between the detective and his doctor was unique, even as young as he was. They seemed to be two parts of a whole.

"δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς." Alex murmured, then covered his mouth quickly, not intending to give voice to his words.

John closed his eyes and worked it out. "Two halves of one heart." He grinned and gave Alex a small bowl of cherries. "δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς. Yes, Alex, that is the best description I've heard."

Sherlock tried to blink the tears away that were falling, but soon he gave up.

"δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς."

The three of them sat quietly, eating cherries and watching the stars come out. Alex squinted up at the sky and pointed, "Ποια αστέρια είναι αυτά?"

"Μεγάλη Άρκτος" Sherlock offered, still a bit uncertain.

"Ursa Major." John nodded with a broad smile.

"Ursa Major." Alex grinned back.

"Very good."

"Alexandros!" A female voice yelled, slightly afraid.

"Mama." He rolled his eyes, but rose from his chair. "I must go. Thank you again. Always, uhm - το χρέος σας?" He kissed John's cheeks and ran home, cherry juice staining his fingers and lips.

" 'In your debt' - as am I, have always been, η καρδιά μου."

 

As the roads were blocked by debris and large branches, they accepted the guest room in Andreas' home. 

"We hope you don't mind sharing?" Ioanna asked. "Your parents stayed with us many times..."

Sherlock kissed her cheeks and smiled his thanks, she nodded her understanding.

"Tell me?" Sherlock whispered as he got into bed next to John.

"Hmm?" 

"Let me help, how can I help tonight?"

"A story? The story of how we met, how you remember it? Not our first time, but the second first time - I never knew, what you thought of me, outside of your deductions, what was your first impression of me?"

Sherlock smiled and pulled John into his arms until John had his head resting against Sherlock's chest.

"You were a stranger, and yet - somehow... I knew you." Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair and felt him relax, heard his breathing change. "I knew you, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Έλα εδώ, δεν πρέπει να φοβόμαστε = Come here, don't be afraid.
> 
> Σας ευχαριστώ για τη βοήθεια του φίλου μου, ο καλύτερος φίλος μου σε όλο τον κόσμο. Θα είναι πάντα ο ήρωάς μου, ο ήρωάς μας, ο γιατρός μας. = Thank you for helping my friend, my best friend in all the world. You will always be my hero, our hero, our doctor.
> 
> Ο καλύτερος φίλος του = his best friend
> 
> την καρδιά του = his heart
> 
> Ποια αστέρια είναι αυτά = what stars are those?


	38. Sacred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"...tell me that it is only a bad dream..."_ ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"αγόρι μου. γιατί είναι προβληματισμένος σας?" Ioanna stood from her spot on the worn rug next to the large old fireplace. Sherlock pulled the bedroom door until it clicked softly shut. He hesitated, then opened it up a crack. Turning to face Ioanna, he ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"Nightmares... uhm, εφιάλτες."

In his exhaustion John had fallen hard asleep quickly, and the nightmare had started sooner than normal. Despite Sherlock's attempts to soothe him with softly spoken reminders and nimble fingers deftly rubbing circles against his scalp and spine, the dream still shook him awake, trembling and gasping for air. John held tight to Sherlock as he searched the unfamiliar room with panicked eyes. 

"John?" Sherlock turned John's head with gentle fingers so that he could focus on him. "John I'm right here." 

"There was a boy..." John had rasped out. He closed his eyes tight, shook his head, and then wept into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms around his friend and began to hum the piece he'd been composing. John cried himself out and fell into a restless sleep; Sherlock allowed himself to doze off as well, but soon found himself gasping awake...

"αγαπητέ, come." Ioanna's soft words broke through his hazy contemplation. 

Sherlock laid his hand on the door, and willed the man on the other side to rest peacefully. He allowed himself to be led to a low stool beside the fire. Ioanna placed a steaming mug in his hands and took her place on the rug. They sat in silence and stared into the fire, Ioanna occasionally stirring something in a small pot.

"Did we wake you?" Sherlock sighed.

"No, αγαπητό αγόρι. I was, hmm, ανήσυχος... concerned. For Ο γιατρός μας." She refilled Sherlock's mug from the kettle resting in the embers.

"Ο γιατρός μας -- our doctor." Sherlock repeated. He smiled at the tenderness in Ioanna's voice.

"Η καρδιά του ήταν βαρύ... even after Nikó was found." 

"He was a Captain... uhm, in the army -- στρατία?" 

Ioanna smiled fondly. "Captain? αρχηγός."

Sherlock nodded. "γιατρός και Στρατιώτη. He saw a lot of bad. He was badly wounded... άσχημα τραυματίες." He placed his hand on his own left shoulder. "If something reminds him..."

"εφιάλτες." With glistening eyes, Ioanna looked up at Sherlock. "And you? εφιάλτες?"

 "A few years ago I had to leave... London, my home, John... Η καρδιά μου." 

"Ξέρω ότι." Ioanna stirred her little pot, removed it from the fire, and then took Sherlock's hand.

"I only went away to protect him -- προστατεύουν τον. Στους εφιάλτες μου να τον χάσει." Sherlock released a shuddering breath.

"You will not be rid of him so easily, I think." Ioanna's smile was kind.

Sherlock hummed his agreement. "δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς. Alex said that."

"Two halves... He is a wise boy."

"Some days it feels as if the only heart I have exists solely in him. Γιάννης μου. Η καρδιά μου. Έσωσε τη ζωή μου." Sherlock blinked rapidly, but could do nothing to stop the tears. He huffed a breath laugh. "συγγνώμη. I'm being sentimental..."

"Αγάπη μου," Ioanna took the mug from his hand, wiped his tears with her tea towel, and kissed his forehead through the riotous curls. "Your love story, it is a different kind of love story is it not? Αλλά είναι τέλεια για σένα."

Sherlock looked up at her then, his eyes iridescent in the soft glow of the fire, and Ioanna gasped at the life and love she saw there. At what she knew only John before her had seen. "What you have built together is... ιερός... _sacred._ Φυλάσσετε καλά." She hugged him tight.

"Μπορώ να κάνω τίποτα λιγότερο." He whispered. Ioanna kissed both his cheeks and stood.

"I will be just a moment." She took her pot from the hearth and stepped into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a steaming bowl on a tray, and another mug.

"You came out looking for some relief for Ο γιατρός μας, yes?" 

Sherlock smiled at her wisdom and nodded.

"This," she motioned to the bowl, "is, hmm, heat..."

"A hot compress?"

"Yes!" Ioanna nodded. "Boiled in herbs to help relax... And the tea..."

"Chamomile and lemon balm. Very soothing." Sherlock stood and kissed her cheek before taking the tray. "Ευχαριστώ."

She patted his arm and shooed him toward the bedroom.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and watched John. He still moved restlessly in his sleep. Setting the tray on the side table, Sherlock sat with his back against the headboard. He brushed the sweat soaked hair back from John’s forehead. He still had some dirt on his face from earlier.

John sniffed and sighed, and his eyes fluttered open. "Sherlock?"

"I didn't mean to wake you." Sherlock found himself astounded that a man who had only seconds before been caught up in the hellish imaginations of his mind could still look at him with eyes so full of trust and love.

"Yes you did." John huffed a laugh and groaned as he sat up.

"Ioanna made you a hot compress and some herbal tea. To help you relax." 

John smiled. "If he's not careful, Andreas may be right. I may steal her away." He pulled his shirt over his head. 

Sherlock helped him position the hot towel across his back and shoulders. John couldn't help but groan with the relief it brought. "God that's good. Would it be weird to ask Andreas and Ioanna to adopt me?"

Adjusting pillows and each other, they leaned back, with John mostly resting against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock handed John the mug. "Perhaps we should adopt them. Our honorary μαμά και παπά."

John chuckled. "Won't Mrs. Hudson be jealous."

"Of course not. She's our London mum. Ioanna and Andreas will be our island mama and papa." Sherlock shrugged. He was lightly running his fingers through John's hair.

"You're serious." John looked up at Sherlock and grinned. "Yeah, okay. Let's adopt them." They rested in silence as John finished his tea. 

Sherlock took the mug from John and wrapped his arm around him. "Your dream..."

John yawned and shuffled a little to get settled. "It wasn't anyone here. And not you for once. Just... A real memory. I don't have those often. A little boy in a village. Got caught in the crossfire. I could smell the cordite, feel the weight of my gear, it was so vivid and real. All I could do was hold him." He took a deep breath, then patted Sherlock's hand. "You had a dream too."

"Mhmm."

"Tell me?"

"It started where we started. I was six, and was trapped. I couldn't get out, and I knew you were suppose to be there to help me. I knew that's what was suppose to happen next. But you never came." 

John took Sherlock's hand in both of his.

"I'm glad you found me." Sherlock whispered. "Γιάννης μου. Η καρδιά μου."

John yawned again as his eyes drooped shut. "δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> αγόρι μου. γιατί είναι προβληματισμένος σας? - My boy. Why are you troubled?
> 
> εφιάλτες - nightmares
> 
> αγαπητέ - dear one
> 
> αγαπητό αγόρι - dear boy
> 
> Η καρδιά του ήταν βαρύ - his heart was heavy
> 
> γιατρός και Στρατιώτη - doctor and soldier
> 
> Ξέρω ότι - I know of it
> 
> Στους εφιάλτες μου να τον χάσει - in the nightmares I lose him
> 
> Γιάννης μου. Η καρδιά μου. Έσωσε τη ζωή μου. - my John. My heart. He saved my life.
> 
> συγγνώμη - I'm sorry
> 
> Αγάπη μου - my love
> 
> Αλλά είναι τέλεια για σένα - but it is perfect for you
> 
> Φυλάσσετε καλά - guard it well
> 
> Μπορώ να κάνω τίποτα λιγότερο - I can do nothing less.


	39. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But I made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are thinking of our French friends tonight, holding you in our hearts. We have only our words of hope, and of love to combat the suffering and heartache. Much love to everyone who is hurting on this singular planet we share.

John was awakened by the scent of bread baking, and the aroma of the strong Greek coffee he had never tried. He pushed himself up on his good shoulder and gazed at his friend, his heart, sound asleep next to him. He wondered how it had taken so long to recall his young friend. Life, he supposed, had stolen the memories of him away from him, and yet, he recalled times in his life before their second meeting when he knew he was loved in those moments when he needed to be cared for most. He shook his head in wonder and quietly got out of bed, dressed in some clean clothes that Ioanna had found for him, and walked into the warm, fragrant kitchen.

Ioanna glanced up at him from the table, with a soft smile. "He sleeps still?"

"Yes. I am sorry for any disturbances last night, I -"

"Sherlock, η καρδιά σου told me, how you both have, mmm, εφιάλτες, nightmares?"

John nodded as she poured him a cup of the rich coffee. He raised the cup to his face and breathed in the scent, closing his eyes. "Heavenly."

"I drink it very sweet, glykos, hope it is not too much?" She smiled as he took his first sip.

"You will have to teach me, Sherlock will love this - he likes everything extra glykos." John sighed, and shook his head. "He is very patient, uhm, understanding."

"He is your teacher, as you are his. You have known each other before."

John nodded. "As children, yes."

Ioanna shook her head. "No, I mean, past life, mmm, μετενσάρκωση, reincarnation? Yes, you recognise, understand, I see in your eyes. You have met many times. Known one another many lives."

"How?"

"I've seen before - δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς, you keep finding each other's hearts, you wandered until you found him again, your heart already belonged to him, you could not give it to another. Yes, you knew that, too."

John nodded and put his cup back into its saucer. "I felt broken even before I went to war, I was missing some part, some essential thing was not there. It was him, was always him."

"What did I do now?" Sherlock grumbled sleepily from the doorway.

John couldn't stop the short bark of laughter that escaped then, his heart broke wide open and he buried his grin in his cup. Ioanna shook her head and sighed.

"The force is strong with you two."

Sherlock frowned and John laughed again. "Cultural reference, yes?"

"Uhm-hmmm, come have some coffee, η καρδιά μου."


	40. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"'I think it is time for breakfast,' she added an instant later."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"Good news! Electricity is restored for the whole island! Ah, my young friends, Καλημέρα! Good morning!" Andreas bounded up the stairs with the energy of a child. He took Ioanna's hand, kissed it, and bowed with a flourish. "Βασίλισσα μου."

"γελοία άνθρωπος." Ioanna laughed and swatted him away. John chuckled and Sherlock grinned into his coffee cup at the exchange. "Καλημέρα Timótheos! Please, come in!" Ioanna motioned to the young man who had followed Andreas up the stairs. He was carrying a tray laden with food. Andreas took the tray and placed it on the table. Ioanna ushered the young man to the table and placed a cup of coffee in his hands. 

"Timótheos is my help, my, hmm... μαθητευόμενος -- apprentice." Andreas squeezed his shoulder, his smile was fond. "He is λαμπρός in the kitchen. He is the one who made πρωινό..." Andreas motioned to the breakfast Ioanna was heaping onto plates. "Timótheos, these are our dear friends Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, I am familiar! Είναι τιμή -- I am honored." Timótheos stood and shook their hands.

"It's nice to meet you, Timótheos. Please, just call me John. Everything looks amazing." John smiled at Timótheos and then at Ioanna when she placed a plate in front of him.

Sherlock flushed pink when his stomach rumbled. Ioanna laughed as she pushed his plate nearer him. "Φάω. Εξακολουθεί να είναι πολύ λεπτή."

"You should listen to her, this is not a fight she will lose. Trust me." Timótheos laughed.

"So we've discovered." Sherlock took a bite and closed his eyes. "Mmmmm. Timótheos -- just Sherlock by the way -- _what_ is this?"

"That is γαλατόπιτα -- milk pie, drizzled with honey. You recognize τηγανίτες -- pancakes. Those are topped with πετιμέζι... Ah, petimézi is a grape molasses. And of course ομελέτα τυρί -- omelet, with cheese and smoked pork made here on the island. A traditional Greek breakfast." Timótheos smiled proudly.

"The Greek version of a proper fry-up then. This is λαμπρός, mate. Thank you." John started on his ομελέτα τυρί. Ioanna refilled their coffee, and poised ready to refill plates.

"Ah, it is I who wish to thank the both of you," Timótheos set his fork aside and sipped his coffee. "Nikόlaus is my ανιψιός... my sister's son. He's a good boy, and bright, but..."

"Adventerous?" John grinned.

"Curious?" Sherlock mumbled around a mouthful of γαλατόπιτα.

Timótheos laughed. "And with his friend Alexandros, those two..."

"They're a force to be reckoned with... uhm, δύναμη αναμέτρησης." Sherlock bumped John's shoulder with his own and John grinned a lopsided smile in response. Ioanna and Andreas shared a knowing look.

"You know the type well, I see." Timótheos smiled.

"How is Νικό today?" Ioanna asked as she slid more γαλατόπιτα onto Sherlock's plate.

"Resting. Well, suppose to be resting. Making his mother τρελός already this morning." Timótheos shook his head and laughed. "Alex was there before dawn."

"I'd like to visit him, if you think his mother would be agreeable." John's tone was soft. Sherlock held his hand under the table.

"He asked if we thought you might come. I think he and Alex are quite taken with _both_ of you."

"I think the whole village is ερωτευμένος." Ioanna grinned at them as she began clearing the dishes.

"It's true." Andreas nodded enthusiastically. "And that is why you must spend the day in town. Later there will be..."

Ioanna bumped her husband with her hip and shushed him. "Είναι υποθέτει να είναι μια έκπληξη!" 

Timótheos laughed. "No need now! It's given away."

"What? No, what's going on?" John furrowed his brow.

"It appears we're to be τιμώμενα -- honored guests. For dinner?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at Andreas.

"Συγγνώμη -- my apologies. I promised you anonymity, but you have become like family..."

"όπως γιους," Ioanna added.

"Yes, like sons, Αγάπη μου." Andreas smiled at his wife. "And then you rescued the boy. The family, our friends, they want to thank you. To invite you into our community."

"κοινωνία." John blinked back the tears that threatened. Sherlock sniffed and squeezed his hand.

"κοινωνία, yes. You understand. Please allow us this δώρο της ευγνωμοσύνης -- a gift of thanks."

John looked at Sherlock with a smile and nodded. "You have become family to us as well. We are humbled..."

Andreas stood and pulled them into a hug, "αγαπημένοι μου." 

"You must call me μαμά now, τα αγόρια μου." Ioanna hugged and kissed them as well. "You will always have a place here with us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Βασίλισσα μου - my queen
> 
> γελοία άνθρωπος - ridiculous man
> 
> λαμπρός - brilliant
> 
> Φάω. Εξακολουθεί να είναι πολύ λεπτή - Eat. Still too thin
> 
> τρελός - crazy
> 
> ερωτευμένος - enamored
> 
> Είναι υποθέτει να είναι μια έκπληξη - it's suppose to be a surprise
> 
> Αγάπη μου - my love
> 
> κοινωνία - _koinonia_ The essential meaning conveys concepts in the English terms: community, communion, joint participation, sharing and intimacy. Koinonia can be used to mean a jointly contributed gift.
> 
> αγαπημένοι μου - my dear ones
> 
> τα αγόρια μου - my boys


	41. Possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But, personally, I'm afraid I can't see sheep inside boxes. Perhaps I'm a bit like the grown-ups. I've had to grow old.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Once Sherlock and John had recovered from their Greek "Full English", Timótheos walked them to Νικό's home, a small, but well-kept cottage a short distance from Andreas' home. 

"He rested last night as he was able, had a bit of a νύχτα τρόμου, mmm...night terror?"

John nodded in understanding. "This morning?"

"A bit sore, ate a full breakfast, as always, but already suffering from a bit of ανία, boredom, Alex is trying his best, but they are used to being outdoors, and they are driving my sister τρελός."

"Crazy?" John supplied after seeing Timótheos's exasperated expression.

"Yes, you are learning our language very quickly, γιατρός John."

"Please, call me John, I haven't been a real doctor for a very long time."

Timótheos shook his head. "You have no idea what the two of you mean to the boys, you have become real ήρωες..."

"Heroes..." Sherlock shook his head. "γιατρός John, there is nothing for it."

John sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. When they arrived, it seemed they had a bit of a reprieve, as the boys had fallen asleep, from the excitement of the last few days and simple exhaustion of growing children. Νικό's mother, Nina put her fingers to her lips and quietly pushed open the door to Νικό's door. 

Sherlock and John drew in a breath together, Νικό had his good arm wrapped protectively around Alex, as Alex had fallen asleep against Νικό's chest. They slept peacefully for a moment, then Νικό sprang up caught in a nightmare. Alex whispered, "Είμαι εδώ, είστε ασφαλείς, Είμαι εδώ, Εγώ δεν θα σας αφήσει, shhhh, η καρδιά μου." 

"You're safe, I'm here," Sherlock's voice wavered slightly. "You're safe, I won't leave you..."

"My heart." whispered John in wonder.

They watched as Alex helped his friend fall back to sleep, he had moved so Νικό was resting against his younger friend, and though he trembled slightly, he sighed and smiled slightly as Alex told him a funny story and stroked his sweat dampened hair. 

Sherlock shook his head and sighed. "He's telling Νικό a story from the blog, a time when I fell literally on my face. Some kind of hero worship."

Nina understood enough English, or at least Sherlock's impression of the scene.

"Come, let me show you something." Sherlock closed the door quietly and Nina pulled a series of scrapbooks lovingly put together. "They save their money from chores to get the English papers, especially when you are on the cover, then they cut them and press the clippings. They act out the stories, from γιατρός John's blog, they never miss a new story. To have you here, προσωπικά, hmm...in real life, and to need rescuing...they will always θυμάμαι and θησαυρός this time with you." They saw the heartfelt emotion in her face and heard the truth in her voice.

"Θα θυμόμαστε πάντα και το θησαυρό αυτή τη φορά, καθώς, έχετε όλοι μας δώσει τόσα πολλά, δεν έχετε ιδέα." John kissed her cheeks and Sherlock nodded his agreement before he realised John had spoken the words in fluent and unbroken Greek. 

"We will see you all of you tonight?" Sherlock asked after he recovered his voice.

"Of course, Νικό would never συγχωρώ, forgive me if we missed the celebration." Sherlock nodded and kissed her cheeks and turned to see Alex looking up at him. 

"The story, I told Νικό, it is the ending we love, when you and γιατρός John still λύσει, solve the mystery, after the αμηχανία, red face, yes? You still were the ήρωας, you overcame, did not παραιτούμαι, give up. You never give up, either of you." Alex gave Sherlock, then John a hug, and quietly went back to Νικό's room, giving them a small grin and bow, as he closed the door.

They left the cottage and took their time returning to their hosts' home. Sherlock stopped John after a moment. "How did you know all that?"

"All what?"

"When you told Nina that we would always remember and treasure our time here, you spoke in perfect Greek. Better than I could have. How?"

"It came from nowhere, but it felt natural, like I had spoken it my entire life. μετενσάρκωση..."

"μετενσάρκωση? Reincarnation?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John.

"Something Ioanna said before you woke up, she thinks we have been together, more than just this time, she sees something, knows something..."

"You don't honestly believe..."

"Όλα είναι πιθανά."

Sherlock laughed and reached for John's hand.

"Ναι, υποθέτω έτσι."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Θα θυμόμαστε πάντα και το θησαυρό αυτή τη φορά, καθώς, έχετε όλοι μας δώσει τόσα πολλά, δεν έχετε ιδέα = We will always remember and treasure this time as well, you have all given us so much, you have no idea.
> 
> Όλα είναι πιθανά = Anything is possible.
> 
> Ναι, υποθέτω έτσι = Yes, I suppose so.


	42. Matters Most Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And no grown-up will ever understand that this is a matter of so much importance!"_ ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

_"You promised." William sniffled, eyes welling with tears. "You promised you wouldn't leave me. And you lied."_

_"I didn't. I didn't lie." John pleaded, his fingers clenching and unclenching anxiously around the blue stuffed dog he'd won for his friend as a 'goodbye for now' gift. The more William cried, the more John's tummy ached._

_"Mum says we_ have _to go home today. I don't_ want _to go away. I want to stay here with you forever."_

_"Then don't go." William whined._

_"I have to." John's own tears began to fall. He tried to hand William the gift. "This is for you. So you can remember me. It's blue like the ocean. And when I come back next year..."_

_"I don't want this stupid toy!" William shoved the gift away and crossed his arms._

_John blinked in surprise, and clutched the dog to his chest. "Sorry William. I'm sorry." Mum said granddad had died from a heart attack, he wondered if it felt like this. Still gripping the dog, John turned and ran to where his mum had called for him. His papa was loading the car and it wouldn't be long._

_As William trudged up the hill to the cottage where John's family had been staying, he worried he was too late and that John would hate him forever. It was hard to breathe. He was too busy thinking and almost ran into John's dull big sister who was mumbling to herself about finally getting back to her life. She glared at him and flopped into the car. John's mum and papa had a map spread out on a picnic table and were laughing together as if the world weren't just about to end. His mum spotted William then and pointed to a shady spot under a tree._

_John was plucking individual blades of grass and letting them blow away on the breeze. The blue dog was tucked in his lap, and he didn't see William approach._

_"Does he have a name?"_

_John didn't look up at him. He only shrugged and mumbled, "My gran's dog was called Gladstone. He was a good dog."_

_William wrinkled his nose. "I like Jean-Henri." John did look up at him then, with his brow furrowed in confusion. "He was a enta- entom-" William sighed. "He was a bug doctor."_

_Still plucking grass, John studied his friend's face. "All right." He tentatively held Jean-Henri up to William. "He's still for you..."_

_Nodding, William took Jean-Henri in his hands. He turned him over and over to inspect him. He sniffed him (Jean-Henri smelled of candy floss and the ocean). And then he hugged him._

_William looked down at John watching him. "I..." He didn't know what words to say to this best boy in the world, the only person who understood him and truly liked him. He threw his arms around John’s neck and collapsed onto him in a fierce hug. "I don't want a toy to remember you. I just want you."_

_"I just want you too," John hugged him back. "But I still have to go."_

_"Promise you'll find me. Promise you'll come back to me. Promise me." William cried into John's shoulder._

_"I promise. Always. Forever and ever. I miss you already."_

_William leaned back to look John in the eyes, the brightest blue eyes, like the sky, the eyes that saw William better than anyone else. "I think I missed you before I met you."_

_John nodded in understanding. "Mum says she thinks we were always meant to be friends, from before history. And that we will be best friends for always and always."_

_William kissed John's forehead and they both giggled. He hugged John again and whispered, "for always and always."_

 

* * *

 

  
In the short time since they had left Andreas' home to visit Νικό, the entire village had taken notice that the ντετέκτιβ και ο γιατρός του were out and about.

Dimitris watched and waited from his restaurant, a bag of γλύκισμα, his specialty, in hand, ready to express his gratitude to these new friends. But as the two men passed him by, he made an observation that took his very breath away. They were absorbed only in one another, completely unaware of their surroundings. Their hands were πλέκω... knotted together. And as they talked quietly to each other, he heard them speak of _μετενσάρκωση_ and _δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς._

He remembered history, the heritage of his people. He knew well what these two great men, who were also very good men, were discussing. As any school child would, he had memorized the great scholars. In Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, he recognized the ideas of Plato...

 

_"...*and when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment..."_

 

Dimitris made a decision then. These men were discussing matters of a degree most men could never hope to understand, they had found answers in one another that men had been seeking throughout all of history. And they would not be interrupted, he could not allow it. Laying aside his gift, it could wait, he fell in step behind them.

It was a short distance, but the ντετέκτιβ και ο γιατρός του drew the attention of many. Each individual who approached Dimitris would wave aside and explain that the two men were discussing a ύλη πλέον βαρυσήμαντος, and should not be interrupted. Pétros, young Alex's papa, stepped in at his side, without question, as more villagers attempted to approach, and joined him in his defence of their privacy. They reminded each one that there would be time later, at the party.

As they reached Andreas' home, the crowd had dispersed, and Dimitris and Pétros turned to take their leave. The ντετέκτιβ ushered γιατρός του through the door, stopped, and called after them.

"Περιμένετε... wait..."

Dimitris and Pétros turned back. They were embraced, and their cheeks were kissed. "Thank you... Ευχαριστώ."

"For what, my friend?" Dimitris shook his head and Pétros smiled.

"Ξέρω τι έκανες για μας μόλις τώρα . Φίλοι μου σας ευχαριστώ."

Dimitris extended his hand, and Sherlock clasped it tightly. "Για την αδελφότητα?"

Sherlock nodded and accepted Pétros' hand then. "Για την αδελφότητα."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Plato, The Symposium
> 
> ________
> 
> γλύκισμα - sweet pastries
> 
> ντετέκτιβ και ο γιατρός του - detective and his doctor
> 
> ύλη πλέον βαρυσήμαντος - matter most important
> 
> Ξέρω τι έκανες για μας μόλις τώρα. Φίλοι μου σας ευχαριστώ. - I know what you did for us just now. Thank you, my friends
> 
> Για την αδελφότητα - to brotherhood


	43. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Straight ahead you can't go very far.”   
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Sherlock shut the door and looked at John. He was still shaken from the events from yesterday, and from his nightmares. "Tea and a nap? We have a few hours until the celebration, Ioa- μαμά?"

Ioanna grinned at them and nodded. She watched the care that Sherlock took in helping John take off his shoes, saw the slight tremor in the doctor's hand and wondered at what he had seen in his young life, there was much more than what they knew from his blog, more life in him than they understood. 

"I'll bring the same tea as last night?" Ioanna offered softly, and headed to the kitchen.

"Ευχαριστώ, μαμά." John smiled his thanks as Sherlock led him to their room. Ioanna brought them tea after a couple of minutes, they drank it quietly, then smiled as she departed without a sound.

Sherlock helped John out of his shirt and soft trousers, then undressed himself and they sat on the edge of the bed. 

"I'm afraid to sleep." John admitted, but allowed Sherlock to help him to lie down, and quickly found his place at his side, gently taking his friend's pulse before letting a breath out slowly.

"Just rest, close your eyes...the day we met...you asked my impression of you, beyond just the obvious. It was January, brisk, but sunny, do you remember? Mike, Mike Stamford brought you in, you looked around, it had changed a bit -

"A bit different from my day."

"I looked up at you and forgot what I was supposed to be doing, I took a breath and remembered, something about green paint - I needed a phone, you offered yours - thought it was your brother's, somehow I missed it was gold, obviously a woman's phone, but I saw the inscription from Clara - I saw Harry, and thought male, assumptions...always make a mistake when I make an assumption like that...

John muttered, "It makes an ass of u and me...I learned that a long time ago..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I probably deleted it."

John snickered, but relaxed in Sherlock's arms a bit more. 

"Probably got most of the scratches on the case from bouncing around in her bag. A woman would have bought a man something athletic, probably, or tickets to a sport thing, something to take a mate to, or to something she would see, like a concert, or a play...silly mistake. You. You want to know what I thought of you. You, there was something, in your eyes, something in how you spoke to me, a bit combative, no one usually did that, no one engaged with me in that way. You were never afraid of me, you were curious, wanted to know. And I wanted - I wanted to know you, I did know you, but it was more of a feeling, mmm...συναίσθημα...I intuitively knew you, but my intuition fails me sometimes, I always worked from what I could see, touch, hear, taste...physical, tangible, real - you were more, so much more, more than real, I didn't understand...I knew, but I was afraid to trust you, trust myself. I'm so sorry, John."

"No, you have nothing to be sorry for. I - you know, 'trust issues' - always. Never trusted anyone but you, back then and now. I think we broke each other for anyone else, as children, that is what it is, frankly. And yet, there is more to it, Sherlock, I know that intuition thing, I've always known when things are off with you, I know when to push, when to back away..."

"Like we've been here before..."

"Mmm...hmmm..." 

Sherlock pulled John closer against his chest so his friend, his other half, his heart, his reason knew he was safe, knew he was loved more than made sense. He hoped, if it was in him to pray, he would have, that John could find some peace for just a couple of hours. As he drifted off to sleep himself, he had a memory, at least he thought it was a memory, but it was of an older time, a time not of their own, and yet it was them. Them and yet, not exactly them.

 

"Holmes - my dear fellow - lost in your thoughts again?"

"Jo- Watson, Watson. Hmmmm....I had the strangest dream - "

"Of what?"

"Greece, we were in Greece."

"Never been." Sherlock looked closely at Watson and saw a few differences, but they were cosmetic only. He stood and caught a glimpse of himself in a glass and blinked hard.

"No, I know, just a dream, I suppose." He muttered, as he ran his hand over his slicked back hair.

"Too much tobacco before bed, possibly, or something you ate."

"Perhaps." Sherlock glanced around in search of context, a newspaper, books, anything. He wandered over to the window and looked down to see...

 

"Horses, Wats- John? Oh, John. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, we've been asleep for an hour and a half, Ioanna just knocked on the door. Horses? Did you just say horses?"

Sherlock shook his head and rubbed his face. "A dream, just a very odd dream...had to be," he muttered to himself.

"Go get your shower, wash the sleep from your brain, Holmes - uhm, Sherlock -"

"Did you dream of us at Baker Street, but not Baker Street?"

John nodded. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know. Honestly, I haven't the faintest idea."


	44. Calling Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"To those who understand life, that would have given a much greater air of truth to my story."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

John waited until he heard the shower going before he stretched and pushed himself up out of the bed. Sherlock had all but insisted he get some more rest. But John had remembered the coquina they'd left soaking back at the cottage, they really needed to be taken care of soon. And he ought to see if he could do anything to help prepare for the celebration, though he already knew what the answer to that would be. At the very least, maybe Ioanna -- uhm, μαμά -- still had some coffee.

And maybe she would know something about dream interpretation...

Pulling on his trousers, John stood to reach for his shirt and found himself looking into the face of Mycroft Holmes. Four years old and in a bow tie and short pants with knee socks, but it was definitely Mycroft. John covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the giggle, but couldn't help himself. Tossing the shirt to the bed, he took the framed photo off the wall and sat down to study it.

Mycroft was standing between two couples, slightly in the foreground, holding a toy sailboat and looking unimpressed. The couple on the right was a much younger version of Andreas and Ioanna. Andreas had less grey, and fewer wrinkles, but John thought the Andreas he knew seemed as hale and hearty as this younger man. And Ioanna. Beautiful as she was, and she was, had been a classic beauty in her prime. John ran his finger over their clasped hands and smiled.

On the left side of the photograph, John knew the other couple had to be Sherlock's parents. It was undeniable the resemblance he shared with his mother, from the angular features, _that_ posture, and the dark curls (though hers had been carefully tamed and styled). But John was drawn to Sherlock's father. That smile, _his_ smile, the one Sherlock only let John see, lit up his father's face. And though the photo was fading, John thought he could just make out the changeable eyes...

There was a knock on the bedroom door then, and Ioanna spoke from the other side, "Καφές, αγαπητέ μου?"

"That would be wonderful... uhm, θαυμάσιος. Ευχαριστώ, μαμά." John kept his back to the door as he continued to study the photograph. "Sherlock and I collected some coquina yesterday, they're at the cottage. Do you think παπά could use them?"

Ioanna pushed the door open and stepped into the bedroom. "He will send Timótheos to check them..." She paused and then gasped.

"συγγνώμη I took the photograph down. I just wanted a closer look. I should have asked..."

"No, αγαπητέ μου... It's fine..." John turned to see Ioanna's eyes wide. She placed the coffee cup on the side table and made her way around to him. "Αχ αγόρι μου." She stood in front of him, her hand outstretched, and he realized she was looking at his bare shoulder with tear rimmed eyes.

John exhaled deeply and nodded. "It's okay -- εντάξει, μαμά."

She gingerly brushed her fingertips over the uneven flesh. "I did not know it was so..."

"Ugly?" John attempted a weak laugh. Ioanna studied him with a wistful smile.

"άσχημος? No. No, Ο γιος μου -- my son..." She shook her head. "You have lost much."

"I was a surgeon, uhm..."

"Χειρουργός?"

"Yes, Χειρουργός. But the damage..." He flexed his left hand a few times and Ioanna nodded in understanding, recalling the tremors she had seen. She took his hand in both of hers.

John reached up and brushed a tear from Ioanna's cheek. "I have many scars..." He touched his shoulder.

"ουλές," Ioanna supplied.

"ουλές," John repeated. "Sherlock, η καρδιά μου, has many ουλές. But together... He replaces what was missing from me, and I do the same for him. δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς."

"Τόσο πολύ σοφία σε ένα τόσο νέο. So wise, my son." Ioanna squeezed his hand. "Your wisdom is hard earned. Η γνώση πολλών διάρκεια ζωής... knowledge from many lifetimes. You know it is so. It is because of you την καρδιά σας , το άλλο σας μισό, will understand as well. I have seen it before..." She handed John the old photograph.

"His parents?" John whispered.

Ioanna nodded and smiled. "Together you remind me of them."

John blinked and considered both couples once more. "Και εσύ? Εσύ και παπά δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς?"

With a laugh, Ioanna hugged John tight. "You see so well, αγαπητέ μου."

"Uhm, do you... have you and παπά ever shared dreams?"

Ioanna looked deeply into John's eyes. "Have you... Oh, yes, you have. You have seen the past, yes? Together. And you have seen each other when you are apart." John nodded.

"What does it mean?" 

"It is your heart calling out to his. Even across time." She laid his hand over his heart. "You have seen truths. Things past, things to come."

"What dreams have you and παπά shared?" John whispered.

Ioanna smiled and kissed his cheek. "We have no children of our own. But here... you know κοινωνία... we have had many sons and daughters."

"You've dreamed of others," John laid the photo aside and took both of her hands in his.

"We have shared a dream for many years of two sons. Ένα σκοτεινό και μία ξανθός... one dark and one fair. Men of strong heart. Wise and brave."

"μαμά." John kissed her forehead and smiled warmly. Neither attempted to wipe away the tears that fell. Tears of love and joy, of understanding and acceptance.

"Seems I've missed something important." Sherlock grinned as he picked up John's coffee and took a long sip.

Ioanna laughed and motioned him over and pulled him into a hug. "Ο γιος μου... my son. I will let your John explain. Later. Now he must get ready for the celebration." She shooed John toward the shower.

Sherlock looked at John and cocked an eyebrow. John grinned and handed him the photograph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Καφές , αγαπητέ μου - coffee, dear one?
> 
> θαυμάσιος. Ευχαριστώ, μαμά - wonderful. Thank you, mama.
> 
> παπά - papa
> 
> συγγνώμη - I'm sorry
> 
> Αχ αγόρι μου - Oh, my dear boy
> 
> Τόσο πολύ σοφία σε ένα τόσο νέο - so much wisdom in one so young
> 
> την καρδιά σας , το άλλο σας μισό - your heart, your other half
> 
> Και εσύ? Εσύ και παπά δύο μισά της μιας καρδιάς - And you? Are you and papa two halves of one heart?


	45. old words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I ordered a general to fly from one flower to another like a butterfly, or to write a tragic drama, or to change himself into a sea bird, and if the general did not carry out the order that he had received, which one of us would be in the wrong?' the king demanded. 'The general, or myself?”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"Oh." Sherlock took the old photograph into his hands carefully, and used a trembling finger to trace first the faces of his parents, then of Andreas and Ioanna. He stared at Mycroft for a long moment and shook his head. "Even from birth..."

"I was a disappointment to them. I was difficult, I needed so much, but I didn't know what, they tried, they did, but all the boxes they tried to fit me in weren't quite the right shape. I wish - I wish, they had known me, now, as I am with you, they would have seen me at my best. Go, shower - we musn't be late. No, I'm fine, η καρδιά μου."

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed and saw himself in his parents, saw what Ioanna must see in him and in John. Even in two dimensions, in a fading image, there was something almost mystical about them. At that moment, he wished he had been...different, or at least not quite so hard on them. He had wanted to know everything and once he had met John, he needed more, he hadn't known what, or in this case, whom, but he knew he had been exhausting.

"I'm sorry - " He kissed their images and looked up to see Ioanna at the doorway. 

"You were loved by them."

Sherlock looked down at his feet, and shook his head. "I was too difficult - δύσκολος, unlovable - απωθητικός.

"No, αγαπημένος γιος μου, my beloved, no." Ioanna sat next to him and took him into her arms. "That is the furthest from the truth. Ahhh - I wish, how I wish your parents were here now, to see you and your John. I have something you need to see. σταμάτημα, stay awhile, yet."

She returned with a box, closed with a ribbon. "These are letters from your parents, especially from your mother, from before the time of your birth until shortly after your father's death. She stopped writing, her heart stopped long before she went to join him. I saved these, because I loved her, and because I knew you would come, you would need them, to know."

Ioanna placed the box into his large quivering hands, then kissed his cheeks and nodded. "It is past time you knew, my λάτρευε ένα. I will leave you to it, this is something for your eyes and heart alone."

 

7 January 

My dearest Ioanna, αδελφή της καρδιάς

We have a new joy, his name is William, all dark curls and astonishing eyes...he, oh my Ioani, he is beautiful, and he watches, no, he is παρατηρητικός, already, just born yesterday, and yet, he knows so much, he is an παλιά ψυχή. Someday, he will come to you. If, I am gone, please, let him know, how much he is loved and wanted....

 

When John returned, he found Sherlock standing by the window. He did not move at his entrance, but leaned into him at his questioning touch. "Sherlock?" Sherlock nodded to the neatly stacked pile of yellowed letters.

"From my mum, to Ioanna and Andreas - years of letters..."

20 July 198-

Ioani- My William, he has found την καρδιά του, his heart friend, his other half. A boy, a bit older, beautiful boy, strong, and already so careful with my William's heart. I do not know whether to tell him or not. Is it too early to know your heart already belongs to another, so young and yet, they know one another, as if they have been here before together..."

John dropped the letter. "She knew. Your mum knew what we were - she never told you. How? She never saw me, did she?"

"In another letter, she tells Ioani of a day when she was able to get away from the conference it was close enough for her to get a train, on her own, she came to the beach for lunch, she saw us playing, and didn't want to disturb us, we were "very serious" about something. Just from that one afternoon, those few moments, she saw us for what we were. She knew, John, and she never told me. And yet, yet, she writes of her love, for me...the most beautiful words..."

"Oh, η καρδιά μου, she must have had her reasons." John held him in his arms and felt the fierceness of his confusion mixed with love and the time lost.

"She did, τα παιδιά μου, she had her reasons, though as time went on, she realised her mistake in not telling you. She had hoped to bring you here and tell you, but then your father became ill..." Ioanna took him from John's arms as he openly wept. "She wanted you to know, I swear, but you were meant to find one another when you did. I think you know that, neither of you were ready for the other until you needed each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> λάτρευε ένα = adored one
> 
> αδελφή της καρδιάς = sister heart
> 
> παρατηρητικός = observant
> 
> παλιά ψυχή = old soul
> 
> τα παιδιά μου = my children


	46. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Nevertheless he is the only one of them all who does not seem to me ridiculous. Perhaps that is because he is thinking of something else besides himself."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

_"...Please... I don't understand..."_

_"My love. My little Will..."_

_"You know I hate when you call me that," his whisper was hoarse and broken. It was too young. Too vulnerable._

_Her smile was soft, her gaze far away. "You were so young, but your love was so complete." Her voice more gentle than he remembered._

_"Then why?" His voice broke. "Why didn't you..."_

_She spoke as if he had not. "So pure. Consuming. I was afraid... Your love was not as any love I had known, and I was afraid you would be devoured wholly. That you would be lost to me." She turned crystalline eyes, alarming in their clarity, to him then as if truly noticing him for the first time._

_"I was... we were children. How could we know? I didn't understand... But you knew. You saw him there and you..." tears began to flow in earnest. He wiped at his eyes with a hand that seemed too small. "You understood."_

_She tipped her head in a small, sad nod._

_"You understood, and you let my heart remain in pieces." He struggled to catch his breath, yet his tone grew frantic. "You let me think reason and logic were all that mattered. You..." He fell to his knees, they were bruised. A cartoon character plaster covered a scrape he knew was now a faded scar. "You let me forget him."_

_"Wise beyond your years, I believed you would see it on your own. You would grow into the understanding."_

_"How could I when we were kept apart? All I have learned has only been with him." He looked up at her pleading._

_"The trinket..."_

_"Jean-Henri." He spoke the name bitterly. "You tormented me with accusations of sentiment."_

_"My love... I only meant to know what your heart recalled as you grew. For as long as you answered with tears, I knew if I explained all, your heart, your great heart, would belong to another. I was selfish. I wanted to keep you, my beautiful boy, to myself..."_

_She took a step nearer him, but he drew in on himself, his knees pulled to his chest, like the child he was._

_"When you dismissed my query, when you no longer looked upon the trinket with longing, I knew..."_

_He shook his head, not wanting to hear more. "You knew I had abandoned my heart, had given up on him... He was left alone. He fought to make his way when we could have done it together. He suffered. He... he nearly died. Do you understand? He nearly died. He was alone. Alone. It is unthinkable that I could have... Oh, I would have..." He buried his head in his arms and wept._

_"I see now what I should have seen before."_

_He looked up through his tears at her._

_"Even now, I would not fault you for your ire, your hurt, if that were what you truly felt. But your heart is not troubled for yourself... you are troubled for him."_

_She knelt before him. "You found him. His heart is fully yours, as yours belongs to him. Why do you still mourn?"_

_"I... So much time was lost... There are so many things..."_

_Her smile turned soft once more, and the gentleness warmed him. "There is yet time."_

_He nodded and reached for her._

_She shook her head sadly. "My little Will..."_

_He did not flinch at the name, but his heart grew heavy. "Not so soon. I need to tell you..."_

_"My heart. You're okay. I'm here. I'm here..." It was her voice he heard, but those were not her words. They belonged to another. Another whose heart beat steadily under his hand. Whose strong arms supported him..._

_"John?"_

"Shhh. η καρδιά μου. Είμαι εδώ, είστε ασφαλείς, Είμαι εδώ, Εγώ δεν θα σας αφήσει. I'm here."

John sat on the bed on his knees, with his legs folded under him. His arms around Sherlock, rocking him, supporting nearly his whole weight. The front of John's shirt was soaked with Sherlock's tears. 

Sherlock looked up into eyes that shade of blue he couldn't name. The ache, the sorrow and confusion he'd felt ebbed away.

John brushed curls back from his eyes. "There you are."

He knew John's leg would be aching soon, but he held tight to him anyway, not ready to let go. "μαμά?"

"Helping παπά. She thought you might need some time." John continued rocking him.

"Have we missed the party?" Sherlock thought perhaps John would be thankful for that reprieve.

John chuckled, and Sherlock’s heart leapt at the sound. "You only _just_ closed your eyes. Not more than a few minutes."

"It wasn't hours? It felt..."

"Where did you go?"

Sherlock buried his face in John’s chest. "I spoke with mummy. I was me, but I was very young, as you first knew me." He waited for John’s retort, but his friend, his heart, just held him closer and ran fingers through his hair. "She didn't tell me when I was young because she knew my heart would belong to only you. She thought it would be better if I figured it out on my own, but I deleted you before I could..."

John hummed and continued holding him.

"And I'm to stop mourning the time we lost, because we still have the time before us."

"Brilliant lady, your mum." John smiled down at him.

"I knew you'd take her side." Sherlock huffed. "She would have adored you."

John rolled his eyes.

"It's true. I think... I think she wanted me to be happy, but she wanted me to get there when I was ready."

"And?"

"I'm ready now."

John grinned his most brilliant smile at him. "Me too." He shifted minutely, "but first... Do you think maybe I could set you down. Starting to feel those extra four pounds of yours."

"Three and a half." Sherlock pouted. 

John tumbled him onto the bed and quickly stretched out his legs with a groan. "Whatever you say." 

"Whatever I say... I say... Thank you, John. η καρδιά μου." Still sprawled on the bed, Sherlock sat up and took John's hand.

"Sherlock?"

"For finding me, for not giving up. For being the strongest, wisest, and bravest."

John hugged him tight and whispered, "I should be thanking you. If I'm any of those things, it's because of you, η καρδιά μου."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> η καρδιά μου. Είμαι εδώ, είστε ασφαλείς, Είμαι εδώ, Εγώ δεν θα σας αφήσει - my heart. I'm here, you're safe, I'm here, I will not leave you


	47. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets himself be tamed.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

As Sherlock showered once more, Ioanna knocked on their door. "I have one more letter, I have never opened it, it is addressed to you."

"To me?"

"It came with the last letter she sent to me, she knew - she knew she would never be able to bring the two of you here, as was her intention, she knew she was dying. Sherlock had told her your name once, and she never forgot it, she never deleted it, she was saving it for him." She handed John an envelope, aged, but had been kept pristine, hidden away for almost twenty years. She gave John a kiss, then left him quietly.

 

8 March 199-

My Dearest John -

Yes, I know your name. My William, your Sherlock, told me about your days with him, he tried to explain you to me, when he was six. His youth has been my excuse all these years for keeping you apart. When I remembered seeing you together, just for a few moments, as he spoke of you - your blond head next to his dark curls, teaching him something, I knew who you were, who you are now, as you are reading this. I was selfish, I know that now, I knew that then, for keeping him from you and you from him. But, he was my treasure, my one absurdly, beautiful, illogical bit of my life, and I wasn't ready to give him up quite so soon. I know the two of you have been together before, you are both probably old enough to understand, or at least sense that now. From the day he was born, he was older than his 'transport' as he called it when he could speak, always frustrated, always wanting, needing so much, so much more than I could give him. I knew he had someone already, his heart belonged to someone else at birth. I knew someday I'd have to give him up, I just didn't realise how little time I would have with him, before he found you.

I hope you can forgive me, I think you are old enough to understand, if you and Will- Sherlock have found your way to my Ioani, it is because it was time. You are the one that brought the two of you to her, you allowed him to remember, what you were meant to be and always have been to one another. Those times when you were alone, but weren't, he was with you. And you were with him during those dark days when no one else could reach him. You are why he is still here. In your dreams, you have always known you were not alone. Yes? Yes, I see you nodding. I don't have to ask you to love him well, and true, as you always have and will continue to do for now and always will do in this lifetime, and those yet to come. I do wish with all of my heart that I could be there as the village invites you become part of their family, to see him dance with you. He is a beautiful dancer, though he will probably try to play all night, and you will probably try to avoid dancing, claiming to be 'not a dancer'. His father made me put my numbers away, my calculations were abandoned, and he made me dance, when we were there, where you sit now. Dance with him, John, and know that his father and I are there dancing with you.

Much love,  
Mum.

 

Sherlock was holding him as tears streamed down his face. "Είμαι εδώ. Πάντοτε." 

John opened his eyes and nodded. "Ξέρω. Μπορείτε πάντα έχουν."

"Είναι καιρός να χορέψει, ο John." Sherlock wiped away his tears and smiled at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Είμαι εδώ. Πάντοτε = I am here. Always.
> 
> Ξέρω. Μπορείτε πάντα έχουν. = I know. You always have been.
> 
> Είναι καιρός να χορέψει, ο John = It is time to dance, John.


	48. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I am always thinking that I am at home!"_ ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Splashing cold water on his face, John attempted to scrub the evidence of tears away. He turned his head left, then right, and ran his thumb over his jaw. "Wish I had my shaving kit. I wonder if..."

"Don't bother." Sherlock smirked at him as he leaned one shoulder against the door frame and crossed his arms. "The rugged action hero look suits you. Adds to the mythos. It's what they're all expecting anyway."

John rolled his eyes. "Not helpful," he mumbled around his second attempt to brush the thickness from his mouth with the toothbrush μαμά left for him. He rinsed and then pointed at Sherlock in the mirror with his toothbrush. "What I'd really like to know is how it is your shirt looks like it was just pressed after all... that..." He motioned to the bedroom. "I'm a mess." He looked down at his shirt, rumpled and soggy with tears, and frowned.

"I am habitually more mindful of my apparel than you... Image is important in our line of work, John." Sherlock tsk'd the state of John's shirt. "At least one of us will be presentable."

"Oi! You're responsible for this mess, you know." John elbowed him as he walked past. "Besides, I'm on holiday."

"John," Sherlock grabbed John's hand to still him, "I just wanted to..." He placed his hand in the middle of John's chest. "Thank you. Thank you for remembering me. For coming here with me... For this..." He tried to smooth a wrinkle from John's shirt.

"σας ευχαριστώ , καρδιά μου." John smiled up at him. "But the shirt's a lost cause."

"οι γιοί μου -- my sons -- it is time!" Andreas bounded up the stairs with seemingly endless energy. He dropped two paper wrapped bundles on a chair, and pulled his new sons into a tight embrace. He kissed their cheeks with tears of joy threatening to spill over. He looked them up and down, and patted John's shoulder. "αγαπητός μου, she said you may need new." He handed them each a package. "ένα δώρο -- a gift -- from our neighbor and, uhm, ράφτης..."

"ράφτης. Tailor?" John offered and laughed when Sherlock looked at him with renewed wonder. "I _can_ read, Sherlock. The sign is right above the door!"

"πρέπει να βιαστούμε. Quickly. They're waiting!" Andreas clapped.

"Ποιος?" John pulled the paper from his gift to reveal a fine linen shirt. It was deep sky blue, and perfectly accentuated his eyes. "This may be the nicest piece of clothing I own," John quickly changed into the shirt.

"Not _may be,_ it most definitely is. No, John, don't..." Sherlock sighed as John rolled the sleeves up. Andreas chuckled. Shaking his head, Sherlock pulled the paper away from his own gift.

"Aubergine?" John laughed.

"Hmm. No. Byzantium, or near enough." Sherlock nodded in appreciation of the workmanship as he carefully did up the buttons.

Andreas grinned at them. "The colors are good. Purple is nice." He linked arms with Sherlock and motioned for John to follow as he started down the steps. "Come, now. Οι φίλοι μας -- our friends. They wait."

"Not _purple._ " Sherlock huffed.

"Leave it." John laughed. He let Andreas pull him through the door, and manhandle him into a spot standing next to Sherlock. They both stopped short at the sight of the gathering before them. They giggled like boys when a cheer erupted.

They were hugged and kissed, and hugged yet more. At some point, neither could recall when exactly, flower crowns were placed on their heads. John watched Sherlock closely for signs of distress at the onslaught of affectionate attention. Beyond the look of bewilderment on his face, his friend seemed to be managing well. He laughed when he realized Sherlock was watching him with the same intent. Their eyes met and they grinned. They were swept along, receiving embraces as they went. 

A wrapped bundle was placed in John's hands, then another, and then several more; he looked at Sherlock to see his arms being filled with gifts as well. Then Ioanna was there and she kissed their cheeks. She and Andreas relieved them of their burdens and Timótheos appeared with a produce crate to carry the offerings. 

John started when a small hand slipped into his, and looked down to find Νικό looking timidly up at him. He slowed to match the boy's stride; next to him Sherlock had done the same for Alex. As they made their way to the town square, they realized the streets were decorated much as they had been to celebrate κοινωνία, with garlands and wreaths on the doors, twinkling lights and paper lanterns strung up, and bright blue and white banners flying. John bumped Sherlock's shoulder with his own and nodded in the direction a of small group of school children holding up a large hand colored paper Union Jack. Sherlock grinned and waved to them; when he dropped his arm to his side, he took John's hand in his.

"This is ridiculous," Sherlock whispered near John's ear, though there was joy in his voice. John laughed and squeezed his hand in return.

"Καλώς ήρθατε στο σπίτι, οι γιοι μου." Ioanna caught their joined hands in both of hers, and led them their seats of honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> σας ευχαριστώ , καρδιά μου - thank you, my heart
> 
> αγαπητός μου - my beloved
> 
> πρέπει να βιαστούμε - we must hurry
> 
> Ποιος - who?
> 
> Καλώς ήρθατε στο σπίτι, οι γιοι μου - welcome home, my sons


	49. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What does that mean– ‘tame’?”  
> “It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. It means to establish ties.”  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Sherlock sat forward suddenly as he watched Alex walk to stand before them, his head held up high, his instrument at the ready, Νικό by his side. John felt Sherlock's fingers tighten around his and together they held their breaths; the village stilled suddenly as they boys were allowed to make their own offerings to the men who meant so much to them. Alex played carefully and slowly, while Νικό sang softly and sweetly in harmony with him. 

"Λάμψε, λάμψε, μικρό αστέρι  
Πώς αναρωτιέμαι τι είσαι  
Πάνω ψηλά από τον κόσμο τόσο ψηλά  
Σαν διαμάντι στον ουρανό  
Λάμψε, λάμψε, μικρό αστέρι  
Πώς αναρωτιέμαι τι είσαι!"

Alex stopped playing, and handed his instrument to his παπά and took Νικό's hand, then walked up to John and Sherlock and they bowed. "Our gifts are but small and εφήμερος, but we hope you hear the big heart we offer you. We will never be able to explain how much you mean to us, except to call you our friends, brothers and οικογένεια. Please, on behalf of our village, our people, we ask you to become part of us. From this day on, if you ever feel alone, know that your family, your people are thinking of you, always."

Sherlock rose, caught John's eye and nodded.

He knelt before the boys and bowed his head, for a moment, then looked into their eyes. "On behalf of myself and η καρδιά μου, your Ο γιατρός John, we are honoured and our hearts overflow with joy to become a part of you. Your gifts, of music and song, mean more to us than you will ever know, we thank you friends, brothers, our οικογένεια." 

John watched as the two boys grinned and hurled themselves into Sherlock's open arms, they covered him in kisses and held on tightly. Neither Sherlock, nor the boys wanted to let go of the moment, but Νικό finally pulled away and announced, "Χρόνο για να φάει, χρόνο για να χορέψουν!" A great cheer erupted, from somewhere the music began, and tables filled with food seemed to simply appear from nowhere.

As Sherlock's mum had predicted, Sherlock tried to shy away from dancing, wanting to play for the village, for his new family, but John shook his head. "Όχι, η καρδιά μου, απόψε χορεύουμε. We dance for your parents, we dance for the years we lost, and we dance for the time yet to come."

He had wept bitterly for his losses earlier that day; now, John saw nothing but the purest joy and contentment in Sherlock's eyes as he took John into his arms. John had never felt safer or more loved than he did at that moment.

"I love you," John whispered into Sherlock's shoulder. "I have loved you forever and always."

Sherlock held him tighter in his arms and answered, "Forever and always; I will love you, η καρδιά μου."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Λάμψε, λάμψε, μικρό αστέρι  
> Πώς αναρωτιέμαι τι είσαι  
> Πάνω ψηλά από τον κόσμο τόσο ψηλά  
> Σαν διαμάντι στον ουρανό  
> Λάμψε, λάμψε, μικρό αστέρι  
> Πώς αναρωτιέμαι τι είσαι!"
> 
> Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
> How I wonder what you are.  
> Up above the world so high,  
> Like a diamond in the sky.  
> Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
> How I wonder what you are!
> 
> εφήμερος = ephemeral
> 
> οικογένεια = family
> 
> Χρόνο για να φάει, χρόνο για να χορέψουν! = Time to eat, time to dance!
> 
> Όχι, η καρδιά μου, απόψε χορεύουμε = No, my heart, tonight we dance


	50. Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life."_ -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

They'd held on to each other and hadn't cared that all eyes were on them. All that mattered was that the past was in the past, the future was before them, and they were together, inseparable, wholly one, in that moment. Perhaps they held on for longer than one dance. Neither could be quite sure. To John it felt as if eternity had spread out around them. Sherlock insisted they'd not had enough time.

But there was dinner to be eaten. And there had been two -- or was it three -- courses. Plates were refilled and replaced until John couldn't look at another of the beloved stuffed grape leaves, and Sherlock was certain he'd personally eaten every last one of the coquina he'd sworn he wasn't going to try.

Then the smallest children, with their teachers, made a presentation of the handcrafted Union Jack. There were many sloppy kisses and sticky hugs given, and much giggling and whispering. John's heart ached with joy when one young boy, somber in countenance, but whose eyes flashed with curiosity, climbed up into his lap without prelude and leaned back into him, completely at ease. Sherlock grinned at the sight, content with the little ones climbing over and under his legs, patting his curls, and asking the types of questions only young children are brave enough to ask. The children were not the only ones who made their disappointment known when they were ushered away because the hour would soon be growing late.

Timótheos had then stunned all in attendance when he stepped timidly up with the musicians and sang a ballad he and Pétros had written together, and titled simply "κοινωνία." Ioanna wept as Andreas looked on with pride, and they held onto each other. John held Sherlock's hand. Sherlock whispered the meaning of the words, though in his heart John already understood.

As the last strains of the ballad faded, Pétros counted off the Ζορμπάς. Νικό and Alex pulled John, who in turn pulled Sherlock, to the dance floor. John stumbled and apologized and laughed his way through the steps. Sherlock was all grace and precision, though he couldn't contain his own laughter as την καρδιά του giggled and swore beside him.

They stopped to catch their breath and Andreas pressed drinks into their hands as Ioanna presented Sherlock with an envelope.

"μαμά?" He turned the envelope over in his hands. There was no writing, no indication of a recipient.

"It was left in our care," Ioanna smiled at Andreas.

Sherlock broke the seal, skimmed through the contents, blinked rapidly, sat down hard on a park bench, and read the document more closely. He looked up at John and then back down at the paper in his hands. 

John handed their drinks back to a grinning Andreas, and dropped to his knees in front of his friend. "Sherlock?" With shaking hand and a slight smile, Sherlock handed the document to John who read it and then read it twice more just to be sure. "It's yours? The cottage is yours?"

"δικός μας -- _ours,_ John." 

"δικός μας." John repeated. He looked up at Sherlock with tear rimmed eyes and a lopsided smile. "We were..."

"I know." Whispered Sherlock. He pulled John up next to him.

"Your parents purchased it. Long ago. There is money already, to keep it ready for you." Ioanna kissed their cheeks. "Καλώς ήρθατε στο σπίτι, οι γιοι μου."

"Come, αγαπητός μου." Andreas took Ioanna's hand. "I think our boys have need of some peace." Ioanna smiled as her Andreas led her to the dance floor.

Sherlock carefully took the deed from John and tucked it back into the envelope. There were words to be said. So many things he wanted to say, but Sherlock opted instead to exhale deeply, pull την καρδιά του in an embrace, and close his eyes.

They sat together, holding on to one another once more, as the party continued around them, unaware of anyone, of anything but their own hearts beating. John realized for the first time there was no struggling, no fighting to get ahead. No pettiness, no hurt or loneliness. They weren't trying to learn or solve, to fix, or heal, or rebuild. They just _were._ Together. He was completely at peace, and he knew, as if he could hear it himself, Sherlock's heart and mind were at peace as well. He pulled Sherlock closer. 

John was content, loved, right there at Sherlock's side. For the rest of his life. He moved minutely to look up at Sherlock, but strong arms pulled him tighter.

"Yes, John." 

"Yes?"

"Πάντα και διαρκώς -- forever and always, η καρδιά μου."

"Πάντα και διαρκώς," John sighed, and then yawned. Sherlock's gentle laugh vibrated through his chest.

"Come, John. We're both exhausted. They'll understand. Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ζορμπάς - a traditional Greek dance. Maybe it's best if you just watch it [here](https://youtu.be/iJM5qjbjOdc)
> 
> την καρδιά του - his heart
> 
> Καλώς ήρθατε στο σπίτι, οι γιοι μου - welcome home, my sons
> 
> αγαπητός μου - my beloved


	51. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: "What does his voice sound like?" "What games does he like best?" "Does he collect butterflies?". They ask: "How old is he?" "How many brothers does he have?" "How much does he weigh?" "How much money does his father make?" Only then do they think they know him."  
> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

John woke up next to an empty space, empty, save for a letter in Sherlock's hurried, uneven scrawl:

 

η καρδιά μου-

I woke up this morning, with so much love for you, I thought I would implode or explode or just disappear completely. I do not know how to carry this love with me when we leave tomorrow. I have to find a way to exist in the real world, and I need to do it on my own. But, you know, Αγαπημένε μου, you and I are never truly alone, never separated. I will bring home dinner, and Alex and Νικό, Alex wants to play for us one last time, and Νικό wants you to teach him how to find Μεγάλη Άρκτος. 

Love is too small a word for what I carry for you always.

-S.

P.S. I will get more cherries.  
P.P.S. and more honey...and more olives  
P.P.P.S. I love you.

 

John took his time reading and rereading the note, then got up and made tea and bread with honey, he wanted to save the last of the preserves for their final breakfast. He showered and dressed in one of his gifts, a soft cotton shirt in the deepest indigo he had ever seen. He threw on his swim trunks and went out to listen to the sea, to tell his parents of his week, of his new family, to sort himself for a return to the 'real' world. He understood that his time here with Sherlock was their new real, their new life, and London was simply where they lived most of the year. He knew their hearts truly existed within these walls, in the clouds that he watched, in the water that he dipped his toes into. He collected a few shells to remind him of their home. Their home. He still couldn't believe that he and Sherlock truly belonged to such a magical place. He realised he wanted to give Νικό a gift, and knew exactly what to get him; he had seen a book of astronomy in the same shop where Sherlock had purchased Alex's violin. He left Sherlock a brief note in case he and the boys returned before he completed his errands.

 

Αγαπημένε μου-

I am out running a few last minute errands, I hope you have had a good day, I have missed your physical presence, but felt you near this entire day. I spoke to my parents of our good fortune, and I listened to the sea, remembering how we watched the sunrise together just a few days ago. My heart has been filled to overflowing these last few days, and I know this is our new place, our true home now. London is where we will work, our village is where we will live from now on.

I will return soon, η καρδιά μου

-J.

P.S. I love you, too.


	52. Titanium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And at night you will look up at the stars. Where I live everything is so small that I cannot show you where my star is to be found. It is better, like that. My star will just be one of the stars, for you. And so you will love to watch all the stars in the heavens... they will all be your friends."_ ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

The early morning sky was just transitioning from inky darkness to the hazy grey of predawn. A thin line of bright white and fiery orange split the horizon. 

Sunrise would be stunning.

John leaned back into Sherlock. They were sitting as they had to watch the sunrise just a few mornings ago. Sherlock's chest to John's back, arms wrapped around him, and Kya, who had followed John back from town, stretched out across his legs.

There hadn't been a nightmare this time. They hadn't actually slept at all.

The evening before had been perfect.

μαμά had packed them a picnic, and they'd had dinner on the beach after splashing around in the water and collecting shells with Alex and Νικό. Alex's papa had taught him "London Bridge is Falling Down." He'd flushed crimson with shame when he missed two notes, but Sherlock had hugged him tight, and assured him that everyone made mistakes sometimes, himself included. 

While Sherlock worked with Alex, and taught him a bit of "Ode to Joy," John had given Νικό the astronomy book he'd found. They'd laid on the floor, side-by-side on their stomachs, turning gingerly through the dusty old pages. Sherlock's breath had caught in his throat when he'd realized language was no longer a barrier for John, because John had learned to listen with his heart. The lessons he was teaching Νικό went far beyond the stars.

They'd all laid on the beach, and John had showed Νικό how to find Μεγάλη Άρκτος. With only a little help, Νικό had found Μικρή Άρκτος on his own. Since those stars could be seen from any sky, they'd all agreed to look up at them at night and θυμάμαι.The little boys had fallen asleep, tangled together with blankets and pillows, in front of the fireplace as their ήρωες, ο ντετέκτιβ και ο γιατρός του, told them of their adventures.

But sleep had not come for ο ντετέκτιβ και ο γιατρός του. Feeling much like boys themselves, they found themselves in turn excited to return to the chaos and activity of London, and heartsick because of the goodbyes that would come with morning's light. In the disparity of emotions, they'd clung to each other, silently finding peace in the constancy of the other's presence.

As the sky turned from pale yellow to the fiercest of pinks, John considered all that still needed done. They'd both need to shower and shave. They'd not yet managed to fit all of the gifts they'd been given into their luggage. There was the matter of breakfast. Locking up the cott- their home. Getting the boys home. They had to stop and see μαμά and παπά. The ferry would be leaving in a little over four hours...

"Shhh, η καρδιά μου." Sherlock pulled him closer. "There will be time to fret back in London. Rest here with me just a while longer. Please?"

John nodded against Sherlock's shoulder and relaxed with a sigh. He pointed to a point of light just above the glowing horizon.

"Jupiter?" Sherlock whispered. John nodded once more.

"It's going to be difficult going back. I don't want this, us, to be difficult. How do we explain..."

"People, even those closest to us, are not going to understand, not at first. How can they when we've only just begun to understand ourselves? But we know what we know." Sherlock moved his hand to cover John's heart. "Here."

"You really are a genius."

Sherlock hummed. "We'll see how you feel about that when I leave toes in the blender, or..."

"Stop." John chuckled. "If there have been toes in the blender before this moment, I don't want to know. And if there's even a remote possibility it could happen in the future, I'm buying you your own blender."

"We should probably stop on the way back to Baker Street..."

John huffed a laugh and shook his head. "You go. I'm staying here."

"We could, you know." Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper next to John's ear. "Stay here..."

John turned to face him, disturbing Kya, who huffed her disapproval. He took both of Sherlock's hands in his. "We could. And we will... but not yet. It's not time."

Blinking rapidly, Sherlock squeezed John's hands and hung his head. "I just want..." 

"Ξέρω, η καρδιά μου." John gently lifted Sherlock's face so he could look him in the eyes. "I'm quitting the surgery when we get to London. I've already written my letter..."

"What? John, no..." Sherlock scrambled to his knees so he was directly in front of his doctor. "You can't. I won't ask you to."

"I can, and you don't have to." John's smile was easy. Confident. "Let's consider this phase one."

"Phase one?"

"I quit the surgery, and only do the minimum to keep my registry. Then, I'll have more time to go on cases with you. Which is phase two."

Sherlock's eyes were wide with expectation.

"Phase two is simple. You solve all the cases and catch all the criminals."

Sherlock huffed a laugh. "While I'm humbled by your confidence in my ability..."

"Don't flatter yourself, I'll be there too." John's smile went a bit teasingly-lopsided. Sherlock laughed again. "And then there's phase three. Phase three is my favorite."

"Is it?"

"When you're satisfied with the work, we'll leave cold, dirty London and retire here. But we won't really retire, because I'll still be doctor, so I can help out in town sometimes. Maybe write a book or two. You'll solve puzzles here and on the other little islands. You can teach violin. And since I couldn't buy you the cottage, I'll buy you a bit of pasture so you can keep bees..."

Huffing another laugh, Sherlock swiped at an errant tear with the back of his hand. "My John. η καρδιά μου. You are the genius." He pulled John into a tight embrace. "I want all of those things. With you. And..." Sherlock sat back on his heels. "I have something for you too. A gift. Hmm, it's more than a gift. A promise? Yes, a promise, I think..."

"Sherlock, take a breath..." John laughed.

Sherlock's smile was a bit tremulous as he pulled something from his pocket. Without a word he took John's hand and placed a set of keys on a glistening key ring in the palm of his hand. John looked at the keys, they were in fact his own keys actually, and then back at Sherlock. "You git..." John whispered and unsuccessfully tried to blink back tears.

"I... I had keys to the... to our house made. Yours is there, next to your key to our flat. But the promise is the key ring." Sherlock cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "It's new. Titanium. One of the strongest elements. Named after the Τιτάνες -- Titans of Greek mythology. Doesn't corrode. Nearly impossible to break. And... and the shape, the decagon, the ancient Greeks considered δεκα -- the number ten -- sacred... It represents the completion of a cycle... A key ring is more practical. It's not traditional, like us. And it's..." Sherlock finally met John's eyes. "It's a promise. My promise. To you. If you'll have it... have me."

"You git..." John repeated. He was crying in earnest as he dug in his own pocket and placed a matching key ring in Sherlock's hand. 

"John..." Sherlock gasped.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. Πάντα και διαρκώς, η καρδιά μου."

Sherlock searched John's face, his eyes full of wonder. "Πάντα και διαρκώς."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The key rings:  
> 
> 
> ______________________________________________________
> 
> Μεγάλη Άρκτος - Ursa Major
> 
> Μικρή Άρκτος - Ursa Minor
> 
> θυμάμαι - remember
> 
> ήρωες, ο ντετέκτιβ και ο γιατρός του - heroes, the detective and his doctor
> 
> Ξέρω, η καρδιά μου - I know, my heart
> 
> Πάντα και διαρκώς - forever and always

**Author's Note:**

> Over on Tumblr, the wonderfully talented jolokiamoruga wrote a poem inspired by our story! You should check it out!!
> 
> <http://jolokiamoruga.tumblr.com/post/147609383531/reunited>  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Reality Bites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552564) by [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom), [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456)
  * [A Birthday Surprise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308915) by [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom)




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